To One in Paradise
by satanslut
Summary: *Set just after Buffy's death and before Season 6/Season 3* Feeling guilt and loss, Angel changes his mind about going to the monastery and heads to Sunnydale, where Willow and the others are struggling to cope with Buffy's death.
1. Chapter 1

To One in Paradise (Chapter One)

There was a stark room with a spartan bed waiting for him in a monastery. Angel supposed it made sense. A spiritual retreat where he could deal with the death of the one girl in all the world – the one girl who'd ever shown him what true happiness was; the one girl who'd filled his heart, who'd made him glad that he'd been given his soul, and for reasons that had nothing to do with atonement.

Buffy Summers.

The _late_ Buffy Summers.

Whose idea had this pilgrimage been, anyway? Angel had been too undone these past twenty hours or so to remember much. It had been Wesley's suggestion, he supposed. Wesley was always the one for sound ideas. Everyone else had probably been too preoccupied with worrying that he'd go off the deep end again, though he supposed Wesley had been, too. They had a right to that fear and he knew it.

Sooner or later, everyone he cared about wound up fearing him. Buffy certainly had…and with good reason. He'd lost his soul…

Lost the love he'd felt for her.

Right now that memory was sharper and more painful than even the memory of murdering Jenny Calendar. How could something so powerful that it had cost him his soul have disappeared with that very soul?

He felt it now, though, felt the pang of days they never shared – and one they did whose memory she had died without. His heart, dead as it had been for centuries, felt colder and emptier now.

All of a sudden a flash of red hair, the driver of the car next to his, cut his thoughts short. Her hair – it reminded him of…

Willow.

The _other_ one girl in all the world – the one who'd given him back his soul without a thought of vengeance; the one who'd put her own pain and anguish off to the side to carry the news of Buffy's death to him herself. How long had she sat, cold and alone with her heartache, waiting for him?

What was she doing right at this moment? Was she surrounded by caring friends to console her? More likely she was the one doing the consoling, just as she'd tried to do for him back at the hotel before she was crowded out by Cordelia and the others and... Had he even said a word to her? Had he told her that he was sorry for _her_ loss? When had she left? He hadn't seen her slip out, only noticing after the cacophony of sympathy from the others had died down that she was even gone.

It was time for a change of plans…and a change of direction. He made an abrupt swerve across three lanes of traffic and headed for the interchange that would take him far away from LAX. The monastery could wait. There was something he needed to do first.

Numb. It was a short word and not particularly impressive but it was perfectly descriptive of Willow's condition. Numb. Even the sound of it fit.

Buffy was gone. Xander hadn't been able to save her with mouth to mouth resuscitation this time; Slayer healing wasn't going to kick in. Buffy Summers, the greatest Slayer and the very best best friend ever, was dead.

It seemed so impossible. Buffy had faced death and defeated it so many times that Willow had just taken it for granted that she always would.

They all had.

Willow's arm was around Tara as they sat on the sofa in Buf—in the Summers' living room. Guess there was only one Summers now, at least one who mattered. Hank had been so absent that he was much less real than Dawn. Maybe the monks should have made a new father for Buffy while they were at it, huh? One who cared would have been great. Buffy would have liked that.

The feel of Tara's hair against her hand as she absently stroked the head pillowed on her shoulder was the only thing anchoring her. She almost wished it wasn't. There was a whole world of memories and history inside her mind and Willow wanted to get lost in it.

Of course, that would be selfish, wouldn't it? Because she was needed now, all of her. And she had Tara, Tara who was the best and brightest thing in her life. She loved Tara so much – saving her… Had saving her cost Buffy this last battle? Had too much of the ammo of Buffy's big gun been expended in rescuing Tara from the darkness where she'd been exiled when Glory drained her mind?

The numbness dissipated. Now there were tears.

Tara lifted her head from Willow's shoulder as she felt Willow begin to tremble. Her lover – her _love_ – was crying. She felt helpless and she hated that feeling; it reminded her too much of what she'd just endured – the blackness…the void…the away-ness. But there wasn't anything she could do. Buffy was dead.

"I love you, sweetie," she said softly.

The others were just sitting around, staring into space, acting as if they were waiting for someone to tell them what to do – and that someone would be Willow. It made Tara angry. Willow was grieving, too – Tara could feel how desperate that grief was in the almost acid burn of the tears that had touched her skin – and she needed space to feel and cry. It didn't look like anyone else saw it that way, though.

"So, you guys are gonna stay here with Dawn, right?" Uh oh. Xander knew he'd asked that question before. Along with his memory, the dirty look he just got from Tara told him. And on that subject – Tara gave him a dirty look? What was up with that? She _never_ gave anyone a dirty look. Not that he'd ever seen anyway.

Why was he thinking like this? Why did he care? Because it didn't really matter, did it? Nothing mattered. Nothing in the whole world mattered now that Buffy was…

Dead.

Pulling Anya close, he kissed the top of her head. He'd never needed her more than he did today. How could the world even keep turning with Buffy gone? Boy, he should have paid more attention in science, because right now nothing made any sense. He looked up and his eyes found Willow – she was always the one who explained things, who helped him understand. But instead of those wise, calm eyes he wanted so badly to look into and find answers, he saw nothing but tears.

What was he going to do? "Will?" he asked, pleading for her to be brilliant and together and in charge of everything.

Willow roused herself at the sound of Xander's voice… Again, right? Because he'd said something a minute ago, only she hadn't quite caught it. "Yeah?" She looked at Giles for a clue, but he wasn't any help. She guessed she shouldn't have expected him to be. Buffy was…his _daughter_, really. His grief was profoundly disabling. A compassionate person would never make demands on him at a time like this. The brain processed things subconsciously even when you weren't paying attention, right? Willow rooted desperately through each cell, hoping a memory was stored. "Staying here? Me and Tara, right? That's the plan."

She watched as Xander sighed in relief. That was good. She'd gotten it right. Taking a deep breath, she willed away the tears she'd been shedding. She was no good to anyone if she drowned. Looking around the room, she saw so much need. Dawn, Xander, Giles, even Anya…and Tara, too. How could she be selfish and wallow in her own pain when there were so many things to do, so much help that was required? There'd be time for her to cry later.

Never had Giles wanted to lose himself inside a bottle of scotch as much as he did right now, but there was no liquor in the house. Much to his own shame, he had looked when he'd taken himself off to the kitchen under the pretext of brewing a pot of tea. It made sense, he supposed. Buffy was no drinker, not after that episode with the bespelled beer, and… Tears came to his eyes anew as he recalled what she'd been like. It had been worrisome then, but somehow humourous and even endearing in retrospect.

He blinked, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes, suddenly uncomfortable with his weakness. He should be taking charge of things; he should. But he wasn't, was he?

"Are you quite sure?" Giles asked, hating himself for hoping with all his might that Willow reaffirmed her intention to reside here and care for Dawn, at least for the foreseeable future. God help him, but he didn't think he could face the responsibility. This home…Buffy's spirit permeated every inch of it. The idea of living here with her dead was almost too terrifying to bear.

"Yeah. I mean it makes sense. It's not like anybody would really look askance at two girls living here with Dawn and…" Willow's voice trailed off. She was babbling and it felt…wrong. Disrespectful. Plus, there was the whole 'taking it for granted that Tara wanted to stay here with her' thing. "Is it okay with you, baby?" she asked, turning to her love.

"Of course," Tara said, giving Willow a soft, sad smile. And it was. No one would be better for Dawn than Willow, Tara knew, and maybe helping Dawn deal with her grief and pain would help Willow deal with her own. Because honestly, as sad as Tara was that Buffy was dead, she didn't have the same kind of friendship with her that Willow had. How could she honestly know what Willow was going through when her relationship with Buffy had been based completely and totally on her role as Willow's girlfriend and Buffy's role as Willow's best friend. They'd never really known each other as people, had they?

That realization hurt and Tara found herself crying, really crying, for the first time. Willow pulled her head down to her shoulder again and murmured something kind in her ear. She loved Willow so much.

Anya stayed silent, wondering what to do. Everyone just kept dying, didn't they? First Joyce and now Buffy. It made her remember why she'd become a Vengeance Demon without so much as a second thought. This…this…_grief_… It was horrible and it was wrong and no one should have to go through it, but especially not her. Why did humans have to die? And why was it always the ones you liked and cared about? It was never people like that annoying bartender at The Bronze who refused to serve her beer. No, it was nice people like Joyce or really strong and important people like Buffy and… She snuggled tightly against Xander. When they got married, she was going to make him vow not to die before she did. She couldn't bear it if she had to grieve for him.

Dawn trudged down the stairs, having woken from a fitful, dreamless sleep in Buffy's bed. Her sister was dead. She had died to save the world…and she had died to save Dawn. Up until that moment, Dawn had never realized how much her sister really loved her. How was she going to live without her?

Almost everyone was still here: Willow, Tara, Giles, Xander, Anya. She wondered for a moment if she'd rather be alone. But she was, wasn't she? She always had been because she wasn't real, at least not real the way everyone else was real; she was just a stupid ball of energy. She suddenly felt guilty – like she'd murdered Buffy. "Where's Spike?" she asked.

Xander looked like he was going to say something crass and dismissive so Willow cut him off. "He went back to the crypt a little while ago. I think he figured you'd be asleep for while longer." She turned and peered through the gap in the thick curtains. Wow. She sure had lost track of time. Skills honed by years of practiced observation told her it was about half an hour before daylight. Until now, she hadn't registered whether it was day or night. She was about to turn back to the gang when something caught her eye.

A car was pulling into the driveway. Had Hank Summers found out about Buffy? How? "Guys?" she said, her voice trembling with anxiety. "Someone's here."

"We didn't order a pizza, did we, Xander?"

Willow wished she could have found Anya's question amusing, but she was too nervous. It was obvious that Dawn was, too, and Willow got up hastily and hugged her. "It'll be okay, Dawnie," she said, even as the sound of a car door slamming forced her to fight to keep from shaking. Seconds later, the doorbell rang. Letting go of Dawn, Willow wiped her hands on her slacks and went to the door.

"Angel?"

"Hey," he said softly. He was glad he'd been right and Willow was here; the drive had taken him longer than he thought and time was running out before sunrise. He hoped they wouldn't mind letting him stay here until sundown.

Her face…it was oddly blank and yet careworn. He had this feeling that she hadn't really cried yet; not the way she needed to, anyway.

"Come in," she offered, stepping back, and he accepted the invitation.

"Angel's here," Willow said, just as he entered, and he quickly realized it was a full house.

Why the hell had Deadboy come? Hadn't Willow told him everything, dealt with all this in Los Angeles? Xander fought back the desire to confront him. Willow was hitting him full force with that Resolve Face of hers and he knew damn well he'd better just keep quiet. That didn't mean he had to like it, though, and he dared a sharp glare at Angel.

Dawn stared, all her fake memories reminding her that she couldn't stand Angel, had thought he was a big, brooding creep who wasn't nearly good enough for her sister even before that whole soul-losing thing. But Buffy… Buffy loved him and she'd be glad he was here, so… "Hi, Angel," she said and she tried hard not to sound annoyed by his presence.

"Angel," Giles intoned, a flood of anger and resentment and pain imbuing each syllable with far more meaning than simply the name of the vampire to whom he spoke. His Slayer might well have loved this wretch to distraction, but Giles could only associate him with pain and violence and… seeing him at this moment, with Buffy dead…that only made it so much worse.

"Rupert." Angel's own tone was as grave as Buffy's mentor's was. Why had he assumed Willow would be…well, not alone, but just here with Dawn and… Tara? Was that her girlfriend's name? Buffy had told him a little about her and he struggled to call up the details. His eyes fell on a girl he didn't recognize wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. "You must be Tara," he said, hoping he was right.

"And y-you're Angel," Tara answered guardedly, not getting up from the sofa. She didn't like him. She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because Dawn and Xander and Giles seemed to dislike him so much, or maybe it was because he was intruding on their privacy, or maybe it was something else – like instinct – but whatever the reason, Tara knew right then that she didn't like Angel.

"Guess Buffy must have told you about her," Willow interjected, kind of surprised that he knew Tara's name.

"Yeah, she did." Angel was looking at her intently, as if there was something he wanted to say to her. It was…strange. Back at the hotel it had seemed as if she didn't matter at all. He'd barely spoken to her after she'd broken the terrible news and she'd been sure he hadn't noticed, or cared, when she left.

"So, you'll need a place to stay until sunset," she said conversationally. Okay, it was kind of a _non sequitur_, but she wanted to get the matter out of the way so she could deal with any objections before having a real talk with Angel.

"Nice timing," Xander grumbled under his breath. Oh goody. Deadboy heard him. Well, he hadn't _meant_ for him to – it wasn't like he'd actually said it out loud or anything – so Willow would probably cut him some slack. Besides, how could she expect him to make nice with that undead bastard right now? Excuse him for not being able to forget just what that _thing_ had put them all through. Just because Buffy had the bad taste to fall in love with him… Xander hated himself, but yeah, he had to admit there was still some jealousy there. Was it unfaithful if the girl was dead?

Oh God. Buffy was dead. And not like Angel, either. Why couldn't Buffy be the one who could go on forever without needing to actually be alive?

Anya could feel the tension in the room rising. She knew no one thought she was all that sensitive or considerate, but she _did_ notice things sometimes, especially when they involved Xander, and she didn't think it was good for him to be here right now. He was sad and the last thing he needed was to have to deal with Buffy's jerk of an ex-boyfriend. Let Willow handle him. Willow was good at things like that. "I think we should go home," she said in a way that conveyed that it really wasn't a suggestion, kinda like the way she talked to Xander in bed sometimes, only she didn't think this was the right time for her to be thinking about sex.

Willow had never appreciated Anya more than she did at this moment. "Yeah, why don't you guys all go home and get some rest? It's been… I think we could all use some sleep." She could see that Xander and Giles wanted to object, but they didn't. Guess she was good at this 'taking charge' stuff. Or maybe everyone really was too tired and overwhelmed to argue. She knew _she_ could if she had to, though, and she wondered why. Was she colder than them? Was her grief less real?

No time to think about that. Now was the time to hug everyone and listen to them murmur cautions about Angel to her as they filed out the door and into their own cars. They'd all parked on the street. Only Angel had been willing to disturb the sanctity of Buffy's driveway. Later, she knew, she would think about that and about what it meant. She had the oddest feeling it was somehow significant.

What was holding her together? Angel wondered as his eyes stayed fixed on Willow, avoiding the unexpected hostility from Tara and the _expected_ hostility from Dawn. She was remarkable – and in some ways it bothered him, though he wasn't remotely sure why he felt way.

"Can we talk?" he asked, inclining his head towards the kitchen.

"Sure," she replied, though she didn't think they actually had to go off to the kitchen. "You guys can go upstairs. I'll be right there, okay?" That last was more for Tara, though she meant it for Dawn as well.

"Okay," Dawn shrugged, glad to be getting away from Angel. All she wanted was to go back to Buffy's room and curl up in her bed and cry. So that was what she would do.

Tara wrapped her arms around Willow and kissed her. It was a more intimate kiss than she normally bestowed in front of other people, especially strangers, and she wondered why she did it, but then again, it seemed to comfort Willow, so she was glad. "Don't be long," she said. "You need some rest, too." Fighting a sudden impulse to be stubborn and insist on staying, she acceded to Willow's suggestion and followed Dawn upstairs. Willow would be there soon and Tara could hold her and console her.

When they'd finally disappeared up the stairs, Willow turned to Angel. "So. What did you need to talk to me about?"

Tbc…


	2. Chapter 2

To One in Paradise (Chapter Two)

Willow was staring at him with wide, sad eyes and Angel wasn't sure what he wanted to say anymore. He supposed he ought to start with what he'd ostensibly come here to tell her. "I'm sorry. For how I acted back in L.A. She was your best friend and I… I wasn't what I should have been."

"It's okay," she said with a shrug. Her sincerity bothered him. She _shouldn't_ be so damn cavalier and forgiving. She should be throwing his paltry excuse for an apology back in his teeth and excoriating him for his callousness.

"It isn't okay," he said, his tone argumentative – siding against himself. His vehemence would have surprised him if he thought about it, remembered how little heed he'd paid Willow's feelings in the past, but he wasn't rational right now – not completely. He'd lost Buffy and the last ragged fragment of something he'd wanted so badly to believe in to which he'd been clinging and things that had never mattered before suddenly mattered to an extraordinary degree. "You should hate me." Was that, he wondered, the true motivation for him to come here? Was he looking to be despised and cast out of what remained of Buffy's life? Did he think that would abrogate the past and thus somehow his sins against her?

"Why?" Willow honestly wanted to know, because she couldn't figure it out. Yes, her feelings had been a little hurt by the way he'd treated her in L.A., but after all, she could make allowances, considering the agony he must be feeling. Buffy, the love of his life, was dead – really dead this time. How could he be expected to be thoughtful or considerate at a time like this?

"You deserve better." For some reason, his words made her want to be far away from him. What did he even mean by that? And why did it make her uncomfortable, as if he was saying something she didn't want to hear? Her emotions were a mess right now and nothing made any kind of sense.

"It's really okay." Yes, she sounded irritated and she wanted to apologize except she wasn't sure she was sorry. Her feelings _were_ just a big ball of chaos.

When he saw the look on her face, heard the kind of desperate annoyance in her voice, Angel decided to give in gracefully. Compassion was the kindest of gifts. "Thank you," he said, softening his features and tone.

The silence that ensued was awkward and difficult. Willow may have been the one shifting her weight from foot to foot, but Angel felt just as uncomfortable as she did, he was certain. Finally it grew so unbearable that he spoke. "I appreciate you letting me stay here."

Now she was confused again. What did Angel think? That she was going to shove him out into the daylight?

You know, him thanking her wasn't actually stupid. It was polite and nice. Why was she so constantly irritated with him? Well, constantly today anyway. She hadn't always been irritated with him. In fact, she couldn't remember any other occasion… Oh wait. There was the time he wouldn't take Buffy…

Out for coffee.

Because he was going to live forever after all.

Buffy wasn't.

"Are you all right?" Angel's voice broke through the thoughts that surrounded her like fog.

"Fine," she replied. She'd been about to smile –the way she always did when she said she was okay but she really wasn't – and then she realized how inappropriate that would be and her mouth froze for a second or two in a bizarre sort of rictus. "Sorry," she said without thinking.

There was no good reason – no reason at all, in fact – for Willow to have apologized but Angel decided not to call her on it. She gave off waves of high, nervous energy – the kind of whirlwind keeping someone going when they ought to by rights just collapse. "Why did you come here?" she asked and he had to admit it was a good question. He'd expected it.

"I was on my way to a monastery – a retreat – and…"

"You wanted to say goodbye to Buffy," she finished for him. She should have been right, so he let it stand. Explaining the truth…he had no idea how he'd manage that and she didn't need to stay down here while he wrestled with it. In fact, he wasn't sure there was any reason for her to even know.

"You should probably get some sleep," he offered tentatively, unsure of her reaction.

To his surprise, she seemed to agree with him – at least after a fashion. "Yeah. Tara's waiting for me." He watched as she moved towards the stairs, finally slowing, but then she turned around. "Do you need me to get you anything? Blankets? Pillows?" The energy built again and she began to babble. "Oh gosh! Blood. I don't… I mean there's no blood here. I should probably go to Willie's and…"

Angel stopped her. "It's okay. I fed before I left L.A. I can last for awhile yet." It was almost unnerving, the way she couldn't stop _doing_.

"Okay." The energy ebbed. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," he replied, smiling gently. "Go get some rest."

She nodded and then began walking up the stairs. The girl who'd been twitching and fidgeting a moment ago began weaving unsteadily and Angel went towards the staircase, wanting to make sure he could rush to her and catch her if she was in danger of falling. She righted herself, however, and finished the journey unaided.

For a moment, Angel realized he was almost sorry.

Deciding not to think about that, he went to the couch and lay down. It wasn't as comfortable as his own bed at home, but it was almost certainly better than the bed waiting for him at the monastery.

The sound of Tara snoring softly next to her should have been a lullaby. It might have been at that, but Willow wasn't sure she wanted to sleep. There was so much to do, wasn't there? She'd made sure the body was concealed until they could decide what should be done, but shouldn't she be deciding _now_? No, it wouldn't be fair without the others, would it? And they were home, getting the rest they needed to cope with…

She was never going to get used to this. There was never going to be a time when remembering that Buffy was dead wasn't a searing pain in her gut. It was her fault; she knew that. She was supposed to be the big gun but instead she'd been a water pistol. Everyone hated her, didn't they? Or they would once they realized that Buffy would be alive if Willow wasn't so completely worthless.

Closing her eyes, she willed herself not to cry. Tara needed her rest.

Lying here at home in her own bed, the feel of Xander's chest rising and falling against her cheek – it reminded Anya of how lucky she was. It was sad that Buffy was dead, but it would be so much worse if Xander had been the one who died. "What do you think will happen now?" she asked, not wondering for a minute if maybe she'd woken him up.

"I don't know," he said, his voice soft and indistinct.

"Well, I'm sure Willow will figure it out. I mean, she already decided on cloaking the body and…"

"Yeah," Xander interrupted, wishing he'd stopped her before she'd said the word 'body' and not wanting to think about life without Buffy. He thought about countering Anya's blithe assumption that it was all up to Willow, but his heart wasn't in it right now. He loved Willow – he did – and deep down he knew it was unfair to expect her to handle all of this and take care of Dawn but… "Willow will figure it out."

Thank all that was holy for liquor at long last. Giles wasn't sure he could have borne the tragedy of Buffy's death for another moment without it, at least not today, and if it was somewhat appalling to be drunk in the early morning, he didn't give a tinker's dam.

Still, even his very best scotch had its limitations and sadly, it could not make him forget for one second that his Slayer – his…daughter – was dead. And it couldn't help him make sense of the idea that death was her gift. What sort of gift would rob the world of that bright, shining girl? That was no gift; it was a curse.

A curse. He wondered if Angel had the sense to realize it was a far greater one than he had placed on him by his soul and its requisite miseries. Angel…

The only blessing the universe saw fit to bestow on them all this day was that that miserable demon would be gone soon.

Giles thought about stumbling up the stairs to bed, but he couldn't count on snapping his neck if he fell, so he elected to remain on his couch. Lying awkwardly down, he could feel his tears soaking the upholstery as he drifted into a wretched simulacrum of sleep.

As she made her way somewhat groggily downstairs, Willow was momentarily confused by the smell of eggs cooking in the kitchen.

"Buffy?" she asked, the hope in her voice getting swallowed up by the empty living room.

But it wasn't Buffy making the rather late breakfast, was it? It would never be Buffy ever again.

Willow walked into the kitchen and saw Angel at the stove.

"Hey," he said. "I heard movement upstairs and I thought whoever it was would probably be hungry."

It was a relief that it was Willow who'd come down first. He wouldn't want to face any of the others without her. How had he forgotten just how much he _hadn't_ been a part of the group here? How none of them had ever really been his friends. Except for Willow. Though he had to admit – painfully – that he'd never been a friend to her.

"Thanks," she said tonelessly.

There was something about the way she spoke, the slight droop of her head... Without thinking, he went to her and hugged her. "I know how much you're hurting."

While the hug was pretty much a surprise – not like she and Angel had ever really been 'hug buddies' before – it wasn't unwelcome. Tara had been asleep when she went upstairs last night; the same was true for Dawn. Being comforted was so very of the good. Still, she wasn't selfish enough to think she was the one suffering the most here. She wrapped her arms around Angel and said, "You are, too. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Yes, he was upset over Buffy's death (he was, he had to be), but what the hell was Willow apologizing for? It seemed to be a conditioned reflex – Pavlov's hangdog. "It's okay," he said. As comforting platitudes went, it was weak, but Willow seemed to take it as gold. Yet another thing to add to the list of bothersome items of note. "Want some eggs?" he asked.

She hadn't thought she was hungry, still didn't, but a low, empty feeling in her stomach told her that her body and her mind weren't exactly communicating perfectly. "Yeah. Eggs would be great."

Angel must have already done some surveying because he seemed to know the lay of the land. Before she could offer to help, he produced a plate, silverware, and hey, a cloth napkin from their respective places in cupboards and drawers and proceeded to dish up some scrambled eggs which smelled…well, if she wasn't so lost in grief and the need to deal with all the practical problems of Buffy's death, she'd have described the smell as mouth-watering, but now…? Now it was just food – and a reminder of how nothing was ever going to truly be good again. She sat down at the counter and began to eat. "Mmmm." Maybe that would have sounded better if she could actually taste what she was swallowing.

It was painful, the way she was trying to seem…normal. As if Buffy's death was somehow less of an anguishing burden to her than to everyone else – than to him. "You need to keep your strength up," he offered, trying to free her from feeling obligated to keep pretending she was enjoying her meal.

Seconds later, his senses told him they weren't going to be alone much longer and he fetched another plate, set of utensils, and napkin. "Hey," he offered as Dawn walked into the kitchen. It was the same thing he'd said to Willow, but it wasn't as if you could say 'good morning' at a time like this. Even 'hi' seemed too cheerful.

Dawn heard Angel's voice, saw his stupid, blank face, and it made everything seem more hopelessly real. Not like he'd be here if Buffy were _alive_. It occurred to her that they'd never met – not really, truly met – until last…earlier today. Every memory of Angel she had was a lie – but that didn't mean she liked him or that she was going to treat him any differently. Buffy had died for her, so that meant she was real now, right? And she guessed that made her memories sort of real, too.

Her head hurt and she wanted Buffy to be here so they could argue about whether Angel was a creep or not and she could try and make Buffy see it her way one last time.

If Buffy would just come back, she might even let Buffy make her see it _her_ way.

"Have some eggs, Dawnie," Willow invited, getting up, taking Dawn by the hand, and leading her back to the counter. She knew Dawn wasn't exactly thrilled to have Angel here, but she needed to eat. Much to her relief, Dawn did take a seat and begin to eat the food when it was set in front of her. She figured Angel would forgive Dawn for not saying thank you. Not like a girl who had just watched her sister die could be expected to observe all the social niceties. Willow stroked her hair while she shoveled the eggs into her mouth; it was a good thing that at least she was eating.

A moment later, though, she got up again. Tara was here. "Hi, baby," she said, going to her girl and hugging her.

Tara held Willow close. "You should have woken me up," she admonished.

"You needed your sleep," Willow said. "After everything…" Tara had to admit that she'd been tired, so tired that she hadn't been able to keep her eyes open for even a second once her head hit the pillow. Willow's consideration was…considerate. But that didn't mean that Tara didn't feel bad about not being awake to hold her when she came to bed.

"I love you," she murmured into Willow's ear.

"I love you, too." Willow sounded so sad as she said the words and Tara's heart ached for her as reality took hold firmly. Tara was still so disoriented after what Glory had done to her mind. A part of her had almost thought that Buffy's death might have been a dream – just another nightmare among so many.

"Are those eggs?" she asked. They smelled good.

"Angel made them," Willow replied as she led one more hungry girl to the counter. Angel was way ahead of her and a fresh, egg-laden plate was already there. Was it her imagination or did Tara's face fall just a bit?

You know, she needed to stop over-thinking things, analyzing every curve of lip or narrowing of eye. Tara was grieving, just like they all were, and she had the added burden of recovering from having her mind drained by Glory. Of course she wasn't feeling all 'hills are alive' right now. Neither was Willow.

Angel watched, disconcerted and troubled, as Willow made sure everyone ate. Her own plate, barely touched, was growing cold and it seemed as if no one but him noticed or cared. Not concerned if he was intruding on the three at the counter, he walked over and picked up her plate. "Let me reheat this for you," he offered. She was going to eat something whether she liked it or not. Buffy would never want her best friend to neglect herself, would she? Of course not. But that's just what Willow was doing. How much good would she be to anyone, including herself, if she kept on like this?

Selfishness had been his besetting sin since his human days and, soul or not, if he were honest, he would own that it hadn't left him as a vampire. Maybe it was time to do something about it – think about something besides _his_ pain, _his _redemption. He began to think about his plans and wonder: Should he really just drive off into the sunset, go to the monastery, drown himself in solitude and his own sorrow?

Perhaps the best way he could honour the memory of his dead love would be to help care for the ones she could no longer be there for herself.

His thoughts were disturbed by the uncomfortable sensation of 'family'… Had Darla somehow tracked him down? It was still daylight, but… Seconds later his question was answered by a figure covered in a smoldering blanket bursting through the back door. "Spike!"

No one else seemed dismayed to see him. Buffy had told him about Spike's chip and the fact that he was helping out somewhat with demon-hunting, but it had never occurred to him that Spike was on friendly enough terms with Buffy and her family to have an invitation to the house.

What the…? "What the hell is he doing here?" Spike cried as he saw his sire standing in the middle of the kitchen. Fine thing, that bastard showing up here. Was he here to gloat? To lord it over Spike that he'd had what Spike never would?

"He came here to pay his respects." Leave it to Red to make excuses for Angel. She probably even _liked_ him. Bet she and Buffy had sat up nights back in the day oohing and aahing over bloody perfect Angel and what a wonderful couple he and Buffy made. Yeah, that worked out a treat, dinnit?

Not much time to fret about Angel, though, because a nanosecond later, his arms were full of Niblet. "I'm glad you're here," she said tearfully, clinging to him. He clung right back…and remembered. Buffy had entrusted her sister to him. Not to Angel – to him. She'd given over what she cared for most in the world, the girl she'd died to save, to Spike. Take that, you souled, pathetic pouf.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else, Bit," he murmured into her hair. He glanced around. "Where're the others?" Not that he actually cared much, but he was curious. Besides, the more people here who couldn't stand Angel, the clearer it would be which one of them had really been part of Buffy's world at the end. Hell, as much as he and the whelp couldn't stand each other, he was pretty sure Xander'd have his back against Angel any day.

"They're home resting. They'll be back," Willow replied. The tension in here was giving her a headache. She'd forgotten how much Spike hated Angel…and vice versa. Couldn't they just put it aside for awhile? They had both loved Buffy. It would be nice if they could focus on that and…

Angel handed her a plate; he'd warmed her food up again. Guess it would be rude not to eat it when he'd gone to all this trouble. She sat down next to Tara and choked down a few more mouthfuls, keeping a weather eye on Spike. Please don't let him start anything.

Tara slipped her hand over hers and Willow remembered to breathe. Her girl… She looked into Tara's eyes and saw all the love and caring there. That was what would sustain her through the numberless dark days to come.

Spike and Dawn headed for the living room and Angel walked back over to her. "Is it a good idea to let Dawn be alone with him?"

Oh goddess. On top of everything else… For some reason, despite the fact that Angel would be gone soon and she might never see him again, Willow decided she ought to explain things to him. It was only right. Buffy would want him to understand the way things were and to have his mind put at ease. "We should probably have another talk."

Tbc…


	3. Chapter 3

To One in Paradise (Chapter Three)

"… And he and Dawn are…well, he treats her like a sister. Really. I know you guys don't get along, but Buffy trusted him with Dawn. We all do."

The more Willow told him, the more of an outsider Angel felt. Spike… Spike was welcome in their homes, a part of their lives. Far from the grudging and barely-tolerated sometime-ally Buffy had implied that he was, Spike was a full-fledged member of the inner circle. A soulless, base, dangerous killer – as if that chip could truly tether him – and he was trusted in ways that Angel had never been.

Buffy had… not lied in the strictest sense, but she'd misled him and it felt like a knife in his gut.

He kept his face impassive, however, betraying none of his thoughts. He might have voiced a fraction of his concerns had he just been talking with Willow, but her girlfriend was there as well and frankly he'd already developed a strong if (admittedly) somewhat irrational antipathy for the girl. That might possibly have been influenced by her apparent and even more irrational dislike of _him_.

Willow's voice broke through his thoughts. "Spike really cares about her. Maybe that seems weird to you, but it's true."

Why had Angel even come to Sunnydale? Tara wondered. After all, hadn't he built a life for himself in Los Angeles? His friends were there, not here. He should be with _them_. Willow hadn't invited him here, had she? No, she would have said something if she had.

While Tara knew she didn't have any rational basis for her feelings, the more time she spent anywhere near Angel, the less she liked him. Her mother had always told her to trust her instincts – the instincts that had taken her away from her family, taught her to trust in her magic, led her to Willow – and her instincts told her that Angel wasn't the good guy Willow thought he was.

Another kind of instinct, though – a physical one – was dictating that Tara leave the room. "Sweetie," she said, interrupting Willow defending Spike, "I'll be right back, okay?"

Willow gave her bright smile. "Okay." Why did Tara feel wrong about leaving right now? About leaving Angel alone with Willow even for a minute or two?

She was being melodramatic, right? He wouldn't be here much longer. Sundown was just a few short hours from now. Then Angel would go away…and hopefully never come back.

Now that Tara had gone, Willow figured Angel would be more forthcoming with his feelings about Spike, so she was surprised when he stayed silent, keeping those fathomless eyes on her. Boy did she get why Buffy used to complain about him being 'Uncommunicative Guy'. _Oz_ was easier to read. "Angel?" she ventured tentatively.

After listening to what Willow had to say, Angel was more convinced than ever that this was where he needed to be and with Willow's girlfriend out of the room, he saw his best chance of getting his newly-minted change of plans approved. But how? What argument could he use? All he knew was that it could not in any way even hint at distrust of Spike. That menace had wormed his way past the pitifully weak defenses of everyone in Sunnydale, it seemed. While he was usually more of a strategist, he realized he had no time. He was just going to have to say the first thing instinct or inspiration provided upon opening his mouth. "I understand that Spike and Dawn are close and that you feel he's good for her, but…," he held up his hand to forestall her nascent objections, "Who's going to support her? It's not as if Spike has any money or can help with the bills. And who's going to patrol? Do you really think Spike can handle a Hellmouth without a Slayer all on his own?"

Judging by the look of very real concern on Willow's face, Angel realized that instinct and inspiration were no bad allies.

Leading the way as she and Angel emerged from the kitchen, Willow almost ran smack into Tara. "Hey." Nervous perspiration forced her to wipe her damp palms on her jeans. No one was going to like what she had to tell them – and she was definitely waiting for the others so she could deal with all the screaming at one time – but she had to admit Angel was absolutely right. Joyce's insurance money had to be nearly gone and anyway, how would they even access it?

Did she want to have to deal with this stuff right now? With Buffy's body barely cold and with grief whistling through her bones fit to shatter them inside her? No, but somebody had to and something told her that she was the only somebody who would.

She remembered something important she'd forgotten to do (Stupid Willow! You're the one who's going to take care of things?), so she took a deep breath and said to her girl, "Angel and I have something to talk to everybody about. I'm gonna call Xander and Giles. Why don't you guys wait for me in the living room?"

Tara wanted to speak up, to demand – no, not demand, but ask, ask, for sure – that Willow tell her what was going on, but Willow turned and went back into the kitchen before she could. Her eyes locked with Angel's. It was her imagination that he looked smug, right? But she didn't really think so. This was a game and he was winning. Why hadn't she paid attention when she was a child, learned how to be good at games?

Hoping not to give Angel the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort, she managed a sort of half-smile and said, "W-we'd better go sit down with Dawn." It was good that she'd remembered not to say Spike's name, but why did she have to stutter?

There was a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, but Angel fought it down. Buffy had just died and treating this like some sort of contest was inappropriate. And inexplicable. Let's not forget inexplicable. Because why on Earth would he be engaging in any sort of battle with Willow's milquetoast of a lover? This was, after all, about doing what Buffy would want him to do – what she _needed_ him to do – for the ones she'd left behind.

So he followed Tara into the living room.

"Peaches," Spike groused as his worthless sire made an unwelcome appearance. Guess this meant his fervent hope that Angel had somehow set himself on fire and turned to dust in the kitchen was well and truly for naught.

"William," Angel replied. Spike ground his teeth. The only good thing was that Angelus didn't know just how very present William actually was – all soft and weak and lovelorn and grieving – and without even 'the Bloody' affixed to the end of his name. No, it was that pathetic ponce of a poet who sat here now, wasn't it?

"So, you'll be leaving soon?" Dawn said, trying not to glare at Angel. It wasn't really a question even though she'd sort of made it sound like one, hadn't she? Because Buffy would have wanted her to be nice and telling Angel that she couldn't wait for him to get into his stupid car and get it out of her driveway forever and ever probably wasn't nice – though it was nicer than other things she _wanted_ to say. Things like 'I hate you' and 'You're an ugly, brooding creep' and 'You were never good enough for Buffy' and 'I wish you were dead instead of her.' Yeah, those things weren't very nice. They were true, though, and Dawn wanted to say them. Oh, and even though she'd eaten them all, his eggs sucked, too.

Later, she'd say all the things she wanted to say to Spike instead. Spike would understand and he wouldn't tell Willow. Willow would be angry and Dawn couldn't stand it if Willow got mad at her. Not now.

Angel shrugged and found a chair, sitting down. He had no desire to talk to anyone in the room and at least a shrug meant he wasn't lying, because in a few minutes, any lie he told would be exposed.

What was he getting himself into? He was staying here to take care of a girl who hated him and to fight alongside others who hated him as well… Except for Willow.

Come to think of it, that was another debt, wasn't it? An enormous one. He owed Willow and if Buffy's memory ever wavered as a motivation, he had Willow to fall back on. If he were to leave, he'd already realized that she'd be shouldering every burden all alone with only the barest excuse for lip service as help from the others. She didn't deserve that. She wasn't the Slayer; she wasn't a Watcher; she wasn't a vampire with centuries of evil for which to atone. She was a pure-hearted volunteer in this army, not even press-ganged into service… And she needed his help.

If he was to call himself a warrior for what was good and right, this was the battlefield on which he needed to wage war; if he was to prove himself worthy of redemption, this was the home front he needed to preserve.

No matter how cold the company and how difficult the job was.

Spike sat staring at Angel's expressionless face. He supposed there was something to be said for the fact that at least the bastard had the decency not to look smug or enraptured by the memories of what he'd had that Spike never would, but… Bugger it! Angel didn't even look like he was _grieving_. Not the barest hint that his guts were torn apart the way Spike's were and it wasn't bloody _fair_. This was Buffy – _Buffy_ – and she deserved pain and anguish and misery. She was the most extraordinary girl who ever was and Angel should be _suffering_…the way Spike was, the way Niblet was. What would happen, he wondered, if he told Angel that Buffy had given over the care of her sister to _him_. Would that put an expression on that ugly gob of his?

Ah, here was Red. Another one who was dealing with this all too bloody well, though he had to hand it to her – at least she was keeping Buffy's body safe, making sure no demons could get at it.

"They're gonna be right over," Willow said to Angel, hoping she wasn't going to have to face a whole lot of questions from Dawn and Spike right now. She _really_ did not want to have to go through the certain fireworks more than once. God, she hadn't even had a chance to sit down and really cry yet. She'd been too busy thinking about things in the kitchen after making the phone calls to allow herself the luxury of even a few seconds of feeling.

Her best friend was dead and she hadn't shed more than a few tears.

Dawn was staring at her. "Who?" Oh great. A question. If only it did not lead to more.

"Giles and Anya and Xander. There's stuff we have to talk about."

"Th-the funeral, right?"

At that precise moment, Willow loved Tara more than ever. She could have kissed her girl for so readily providing an excuse, even though she didn't realize she was doing it. Of course, that also reminded Willow that they really _did_ need to talk about what to do about Buffy's body and about the complications that would come when Hank found out – which was the whole reason they hadn't let the morgue even know there was a body yet and… "Yeah, that's one thing we need to discuss." At least she wasn't lying, right?

Angel felt an irrational and strange impulse to go to Willow and take her hand, to show some solidarity, but he tamped it down. Willow's girlfriend – Tara, her name was Tara, for pity's sake – wouldn't be too crazy about that, he was sure, and they were already on shaky ground as it was. No, the best way to support Willow would be to step in during the inevitable conflict and not engage in any physical displays of camaraderie in the meantime.

As if on cue, Giles came through the door, looking much the worse for wear. It wasn't hard to deduce that the man had been looking for solace in a variety of bottles once filled with alcoholic beverages.

"Hello." While there were surely warmer greetings, warmth was hardly called for, now was it? Buffy was cold and dead. As far as Giles was concerned, the whole world was cold and dead. Not even the faces of Willow, Dawn, and Tara could induce him to believe that saving the world had been worth it. Perhaps tomorrow he would feel differently. Yes, yes, tomorrow he surely would. But, in the words of that infernally insipid song, tomorrow was always a day away. "I take it we're going to discuss…" he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

Angel stepped in, taking one small morsel of duty from Willow's heaping plate. "Yes, we are." He supposed they would at that. Now that he was here, they could afford a fitting funeral for his departed lover, after all. He ignored the frosty look he received in return from Giles. Not as if Rupert didn't have reason to hold a grudge.

Boy, Willow thought she might get frostbite from the chill in the room. "Hey," Xander called out as he and Anya walked into the living room. The gang was all here. Time to get this show on the road.

"Thanks for coming so quickly," Willow offered to all three of the newly-arrived. Guess they could get this over with.

Xander went to her and gave her a hug. "You said it was pretty urgent and… Yeah, I'm guessing you can't…you know…hide…," he couldn't for the life of him say 'the body', "…for much longer."

Hating himself, he realized from her expression that Willow had already figured everything out and was just going to tell them what she was doing and where they'd need to be and… He was relieved, okay? He was glad that someone besides him was doing this because he couldn't and no, it wasn't fair but...

"Angel and I have some stuff we need to talk to you about I just want everyone to sit down and just be quiet and listen until we're finished, okay?"

Xander suddenly felt a nightmare coming on. Since when did Angel have anything to say? But he did as he was told. So did everyone else. Willow had pulled out her Resolve Face and they had no choice.

Angel watched as everyone did as Willow said. Here was hoping it stayed that way after she said more.

"First of all, we all want Dawn to stay here with us, right?" Everyone nodded and Willow continued. "Okay, there's stuff that… Making house payments and buying food and clothes and stuff – that takes money. And money isn't exactly something we have lying around in large amounts. So…ummm… Angel sort of came up with a solution. And it's really a good one."

"I'm staying here." Just as Angel had feared it would, his words unleashed a cacophony in the room.

There was no making coherence out of the sound-storm, though the words 'no' and 'like hell' could be discerned. Finally Willow put her fingers to her lips and put forth an ear-splitting whistle, quieting the din in a trice. Angel was impressed anew at her ability to take charge of her friends. But it also showed him how easily even he could allow himself the luxury of feeling that her taking on all duties was a natural thing. No, he would not allow that to happen.

"What did you all think – that Willow would quit school and get a job and support everyone? Or was she supposed to just say 'hocus pocus' and make money appear out of thin air?" Granted, he was reasonably sure none of them had given a second's thought to any of the practical issues, but he wasn't interested in being understanding. That would be no help at all.

Tara stared at Angel, a frisson of doom going up her spine. Yes, the reasons he gave for staying were reasonable but… He wasn't good. He wasn't. Didn't they understand that souls were neither good nor evil? Angel's soul could not make him what his nature obviously did not. She should never have left the kitchen, should never have allowed this…creature to trick Willow. Now it was too late.

Anya's first reaction was relief, though it wasn't like she was going to say that out loud. But it was true. She'd been afraid that Willow would ask her for money…not that she didn't care about Dawn, but teenage girls ate a great deal and wanted lots of clothes and makeup and things and… Still, looking at Xander, she thought maybe it would have been better if Willow had wanted their money after all. Because Xander was very upset and he didn't need this along with being so sad about Buffy's death. Didn't Willow understand that?

Dawn's mouth was a tight line as she looked into Willow's pleading gaze. She didn't want to think about this – any of this. Couldn't they wait? Buffy had just died yesterday. But Willow's words echoed in her head. This was what she was doing to make sure that Dawn could stay here with Spike and Xander and Tara and Giles and yes, Willow, who she loved so much. So okay, if staying here meant putting up with stupid Angel, she could do it. Softening her expression, she spoke softly. "Okay, he can stay."

What? How could Niblet just cave in like this? Let that bastard stay here. All right, the bit about the money – that was a good point. But hell, why couldn't Angelus just send them a check every month? Why was he insisting on compounding everyone's suffering by staying here…here, where Spike would have to be reminded every day that once again, his sire had had what he wanted – the love of Spike's heart's desire? He said nothing, however. No chance was he giving that worthless pouf a window into his pain.

Giles had listened in stunned silence to Angel's declaration that he was staying here. He hated to admit it, but his offer of financial support was quite probably a blessing. Giles wasn't exactly equipped to properly support two households and no, it wasn't fair to expect Willow to throw away her education, but one thing nagged at him and he was surprised and, well, a bit disappointed in Willow for not considering it herself. "You do realize that once we inform the authorities of Buffy's…passing, Hank Summers will need to be dealt with?"

Oh god. Now was the hardest of the hard parts. Willow hadn't even discussed this with Angel. She only hoped everyone would see that it was the only way. She knew he thought that he and Spike would be enough to keep the lid on the Hellmouth, but once word got out that there was no Slayer… "We're not telling the authorities. We're not telling anyone. We're gonna bury Buffy in secret and hide the grave with a glamour. That way no one but us will know that she's dead and Mr. Summers won't be a problem."

As always, Xander was in awe of the way Willow's mind worked, so much so that he almost forgot for a moment how disgusted he was at the thought of Angel hanging around, but then he, much to his own shock, spotted a potential flaw in her logic. "Won't people, and non-people, start to notice that Buffy isn't around?"

"I…uh…I kind of have a way to deal with that." Taking a deep breath, Willow said, "We fix the Buffybot."

Before she could even begin to explain things to an obviously confused Angel, Spike leapt from the couch and yelled, "No!"

Great. That was the signal and chaos returned.

Tbc…


	4. Chapter 4

To One in Paradise (Chapter Four)

The Buffybot.

Of all the stupid, worthless ideas Red had ever come up with.

And she had to bring it up in front of Angel.

Damn her to the hottest of all hells.

"We don't need it," Spike argued.

"Spike's right," Dawn agreed, her voice choked with tears. Bless Bit for that, though he knew she had her own reasons for not wanting to see that machine ever again. "We can handle things without…_that_."

What was everyone talking about? That's what Angel wanted to know. "The… Buffybot?"

"It's kind of a long story," Willow offered, though at least Angel could tell from her expression that she intended to share it with him at some point. Giles, Tara, and Xander were stone-faced and disinterested in his confusion.

"Oh, it's not that long," Anya piped up. She was about to tell the tale when Xander glared at her. Okay, she'd shut up. She supposed it did sort of make sense, since, now that she thought about it, talking about sex was probably inappropriate what with Buffy being newly-dead and all. "Actually, it is sort of long, so I'll just skip it." Xander squeezed her hand and gave her one of those sweet looks she liked so much. There was something pretty nice about having gotten it right for once. She stayed silent and just got lost in the feeling of Xander's fingers around her hand. It was the same hand on which she wore her engagement ring.

"There's no need to explain anything, because the 'bot is going straight to the scrap heap," Spike proclaimed.

Giles, much to his own shock, felt compelled to disagree. As much as the idea of having that horrible robot around to remind him of what he – _they_ – had just lost made him physically ill, he was still, in his soul, a Watcher, and as such he knew what was at stake. "I'm afraid I have to come down on Willow's side of things. A Hellmouth without a Slayer… It would not be long before demons converged on this place in numbers too alarming to contemplate and what's more, they'd be emboldened to a greater degree than ever and…"

"So what you're saying is that, like it or not, the Buffybot is here to stay." Xander's voice was almost as blank as he felt right now. His emotions had overloaded and shut down. Buffy was dead and he was going to have to look at a reminder of what wasn't here anymore every day for… forever, or as close to it as a frail human like him was ever going to get.

"I'm… I'm afraid so."

"Great." Even though he knew Giles was right, a part of Xander really hated Willow right now for coming up with the idea in the first place. Would it really be so terrible if the world ended? Then he glanced down and saw the ring on Anya's hand. Okay, maybe there was something besides grief in his heart and maybe there should be a tomorrow after all, even if it didn't really feel like it right now. Guess Anya had been right last night. Willow would take care of things and they just needed to trust her. "So what do we do now? I mean there's still…"

"Buffy's body," Dawn finished. For a moment she glared at Willow, but then she softened. It had to hurt Willow, too, the whole idea of having that stupid robot around, but the last thing Buffy would want was for everyone in Sunnydale to be slaughtered by demons because she wasn't here anymore.

Dawn spoke again. "I get it. I mean about the robot and all." She stood up and kept looking straight at Willow, who soon came and pulled her into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Dawnie." Willow held Dawn tightly. She knew how much this was going to hurt – seeing a fake Buffy all the time. But what else could they do? How else could they even be sure Dawn would be safe? Or able to stay in Sunnydale? "If there was some other way…"

"I know."

It was hard seeing how much growing up Dawn had already had to do…how much more she'd have to do in the days and weeks to come. Okay, maybe she was an ancient, mystical key, but…she was a girl, just a scared, lost, little girl, and Willow felt helpless to take care of her the way Buffy would want her to. "I'll fix her programming and stuff and try to keep her out of the way as much as I can," she promised.

Tara felt…lost. Not the same lost she'd just been rescued from, but lost all the same. Decisions were being made and the order of things was transforming and all she could do was sit here and watch and… What could she do? What could _she_ do? She should help. She knew that. The problem was that she had no idea how. Was loving Willow help?

There were a lot of things Angel hated – it came with age, he supposed – but close to the top of the list was not being privy to some secret everyone else knew. He felt mocked somehow and it was an uncomfortable and unpleasant experience. But there was no help for it at the moment. No one seemed inclined to go into any details about this 'Buffybot', though the name and what little information had been disclosed at least allowed him to discern that it was some sort of mechanical version of Buffy herself, though why it existed was still a mystery. Strangely, Spike's reaction had been the most stridently negative. What did that mean?

Time to change the subject and get onto surer ground. "Do you need me to make any arrangements? A coffin…?"

The moment Angel said those words, Willow found herself again swirling in the confused place she seemed to find herself in a lot now. Was she annoyed? Why? Maybe she was grateful? That could be it, right? But how hard could it be to tell the difference and why couldn't she? She decided on grateful because it made a lot more sense. After all, she really did need some help with the logistics and stuff. "That would be great," she replied, wincing as she did. 'Great' had to be the most inappropriate possible adjective. How could _anything_ be great? "Just don't tell them it's to use for an actual burial, okay?"

And now _Spike_ was glaring at her. God. Buffy had been dead for only a day and already Willow was screwing everything up. "Look, I know this isn't ideal. We're all hurting. And what I want is for us to have a big funeral and cry a lot and come back here and…I don't know…sit shiva or something, but that's not an option. Buffy's dead, but we can't let everything she cared about – Dawn, her duty…" For a second she could feel her defenses falling, could feel the tears threatening to spring forth. Now was not the time. She took a deep breath and steeled herself. "We have to go on as if nothing happened. Because if we don't… If we don't, then not only did she die for nothing, it will be like she was never here at all." Her eyes swept the room. "Is that what you want?"

When had this happened? Giles wondered. When had Willow grown from the shy, awkward girl who'd been terrified to substitute teach for Jenny into…this - this impossibly strong woman who was holding the world together? He was torn between guilt and admiration. To his shame, admiration won and he did nothing to stand between her and the weight of that very world resting entirely on her shoulders. She was doing this far better than he could, he reasoned with himself. And in the days to come, he would assist her, would take over some of these onerous duties, would support her. He would.

"You're right, of course," he affirmed. "I suppose this means…"

"Some of us will be on grave-digging duty," Xander said.

"Yeah," Willow replied softly, "I'm afraid so."

Xander remembered way back when they'd been looking for a body snatcher: He and Giles digging and Buffy and Willow sitting on the sidelines. The idea that someday he might be digging _Buffy's_ grave had never occurred to him then; after all, he'd just saved Buffy's life, hadn't he? Those had been good days, at least they sure seemed like it now. Couldn't Willow invent a time machine or something, take them all back there? Or fix this now, bring Buffy back to life? She was a witch, right? She should be able to do that.

But she wasn't even suggesting it.

There were limits to what even Willow could do, it seemed.

"Okay," he said. "Guess one of them will be me."

"Thanks." Willow's eyes locked with his and he was reminded again that – even if it didn't feel like it right now – there were still reasons to keep going. "Let's get the logistics planned out."

It was done. The grave had been dug, Buffy's body placed in the beautiful coffin Angel bought, and then the burial. The gravesite was shielded from all eyes but theirs. To the eyes of man and demon alike, the grass was smooth and undisturbed and the headstone didn't exist. Only the small band now gathered again at the Summers house would ever be able to see the marker Willow had somehow created – the one that read:

Buffy Anne Summers

1981-2001

Beloved Sister

Devoted Friend

She Saved The World

A Lot

Dawn couldn't stop crying. Putting Buffy in the box… It wasn't fair. First her Mom and now Buffy. Was this because of her? Had creating her somehow meant that life was drained out of them and put into her? She wanted to give it back, to be some shiny, green ball again and let them live. Spike pulled her against him; she just kept sobbing.

Spike hadn't felt so utterly empty and destroyed since… Since Cecily had said he was beneath her. Since he'd staked his mother.

How the hell had the mighty William the Bloody fallen so low? Fighting with all his might to hold back tears over the death of a Slayer… a Slayer he loved (still, forever) with a passion that would make Angelus laugh 'til the Earth shattered if he knew. How had the Slayer of Slayers fallen for one?

He'd cried at the gravesite, he knew he had, much as he'd tried like hell to hold back with his sire there. Had Angel seen his display of grief? He hoped not. Oh how he hoped not.

'Cause Angel hadn't cried, now had he? How unjust and wrong and just plain bloody unfair was that? That cold-blooded fuck with that precious soul of his… Buffy had handed him everything she was and he couldn't be arsed to shed a tear as she was buried for good and all and here was Spike holding floods within himself for her and she'd spurned him. Would she change her mind if she could see this? Would she wish she'd given him a chance?

The feeling of disconnection Angel was experiencing just kept growing. He didn't understand why, but he hadn't cried – not once. He'd helped put Buffy's strangely pristine body into the expensive white coffin, done the lion's share of the work of lowering it into the ground… Not even the sad irony of burying by moonlight a girl whose life had been spent fighting the darkness could bring tears to his eyes.

He'd loved her…he had. It had been deep and powerful and it had ripped the soul from his body. So why wasn't he crying?

He didn't know. But there was one other question: Why wasn't _Willow_ crying?

The room was quiet, except for the sobs from Dawn and the soft whispers between Xander and Anya. Giles's tears were silent, so were her own. Tara just wished that Willow would let go and cry, too. But she didn't. She hadn't cried at all since last night and even then, she hadn't cried much. It worried her, Willow bottling up her grief. Shouldn't she be letting it out?

But maybe this was the way Willow needed to deal with her feelings now. Everyone was different, right? Willow had told her about what happened when she'd let her anguish get the best of her back when Oz had left her. Maybe she was just worried about losing control. Tara could understand that so well. After all, she'd been so afraid of herself when she'd believed she was a demon and she'd never had the kind of power Willow was carrying inside of her.

Willow wasn't alone, though – not the way she had been before, not the way Tara had been. Tara would be here for her, to keep her grounded, to keep her safe.

Holding Willow tight for just a moment, she whispered, "I love you," and hoped Willow would soon understand that it was okay to open up.

So much to do, so much to do. It seemed to Willow as if handling the burial was just one small task struck off a To-Do list which just kept growing. "We need blood," she blurted out suddenly. It was _apropos_ of nothing and everyone stared. "Oh, and food," she added. "I better go and…"

"I'll drive you," Angel immediately offered, eager to seize the chance to finally get Willow alone.

"Thanks."

He could see that Tara was about to say something – probably invite herself along – but, much to his relief, Willow kissed her on the cheek and said, "I'll be back soon, sweetie."

No one else said anything intelligible, though the murmur from Giles was some sort of assent, Angel supposed, and there was a glare from Xander. He waited as Willow grabbed her purse and jacket from the coat rack and he headed for the door, resisting the impulse to turn back and see the expression on Tara's face. His dislike of her was bizarre, inexplicable, and juvenile and he wasn't going to give in to it if he could possibly restrain himself. "Willie's?" he said.

"Yeah, Willie's is still the go-to place for blood," Willow said. With that, he opened the door for her and then followed her out to the car.

It was weird, being in a convertible with Angel, the wind blowing through her hair… Buffy in an airless box all alone, six feet underground. "Nice car," Willow said. What else was there to say – except 'how's losing the love of your life workin' out for ya?' or 'regretting that decision to stay here yet?'

"It's a car," Angel replied. Funny. He loved this car, but right now he meant exactly what he said and he couldn't care less about this machine. It was metal and a motor capable of getting the two of them where they needed to go and that was all. He realized there was something important here, though, or rather some_one_. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine." Willow was a better liar than she used to be, but not nearly good enough.

Still, was now the time to call her on it? He'd just arrived here and he knew all too well that he'd never been a good friend to her before. If he pushed her now, she'd just build her walls higher and stronger. No, he'd wait. There'd be a moment soon when she'd be ready, when she'd need him, and then he'd be there for her. "Want to tell me about this Buffybot?"

Ah, the question she'd been fearing since they left the house. "I… Before I say anything, you have to promise me something."

"What?"

"You have to promise that you won't use anything I tell you against Spike. I mean it. No yelling at him, no needling him, no laughing at him, okay?" She'd covered all possible bases, right?

Angel was staring at her like she'd grown an extra head, but he did say, "Okay."

"You promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

All right then. Willow took a deep breath and began the story.

Dawn was going through drawers in the kitchen, looking for cookies. There weren't any. Buffy must have… Buffy had eaten all the cookies. She always did that. But not anymore.

She started crying again and she was startled to feel an arm around her shoulders. "Spike! You scared me."

"Did I?" he said and he sounded hurt and sad and… lost, just like she was.

"No!" she quickly corrected herself. "No, not scared. Kinda surprised, but never scared. You never scare me, Spike. I promise."

Seconds later they were hugging each other and she wasn't the only one who was crying. "You never scare me," she said over and over. Maybe it didn't make any sense, but nothing made sense right now and she was just glad she had Spike with her while the world turned all the wrong way.

Maybe he was glad to have her with him, too.

Angel's car had been parked at Willie's for almost ten minutes but neither he nor Willow had yet made a move to get out of the car. Angel was still processing everything he'd been told. Disturbingly, he was fighting back laughter. Had the promise he made been blanket or was he allowed at least a chuckle as long as Spike wasn't around.

How cold was he that he wanted to laugh at all?

"Spike…bought a sex-bot? Of Buffy?"

"He was in love with her, Angel. He really was – well, is, I guess. I mean, you don't stop loving somebody just because…" Willow's voice trailed off, but her seriousness did wonders towards bringing him back to a more appropriate emotional state.

"No, you don't," he agreed, though the words felt hollow. Was it because he was simply too stupefied by what he'd just learned about Spike? That had to be it.

"I'm going to have to fix her programming," Willow said, needing desperately to get back into the 'to-do list' frame of mind. "I don't think Dawn needs to hear… Well, you can probably imagine some of it."

Angel put his hand on her arm. It was yet another supportive kind of gesture from him and, for the umpteenth time, it bothered her. She was all about wrong, wasn't she? She couldn't even _feel_ the right things. She wanted to bang her head against the wall until all the stuff in it worked the way it was supposed to, only this was a convertible and there was only sky. The sky Buffy had fallen through until there wasn't any more.

That broke it.

"I was her big gun? Did you know that? Buffy told me I was her big gun, only I was really more like a stupid cap gun or a water pistol because she's dead and… Oh God, it's my fault. Buffy's dead and it's all my fault."

Reaching across the seat, Angel pulled Willow close. She was almost hysterical now, the dam broken and all that guilt and grief pouring forth. The warmth of her body and the salt of her tears – they were the closest things to emotions he'd experienced since… Funny how a day could feel like forever, even for a vampire.

He wanted to tell her she was wrong, that it wasn't her fault, but he knew those words would be false to her, though he knew they were true. He hadn't been here, had he? And she'd never believe that no one who'd ever known her for a day, for an _hour_, would doubt that she gave everything she had and more to the battle, that being a witness wasn't necessary.

So he just stayed silent and held her as the sobs ebbed and rebuilt and then ebbed again, dissolving into a few shuddering breaths. At one point he realized he was shedding tears of his own.

If only he knew who they were for.

Tbc…


	5. Chapter 5

To One in Paradise (Chapter Five)

There was something desperate and depressing about the fluorescent lights in the supermarket. They screamed of their own falsity in a language maybe only those who knew the real difference between day and night could understand; no matter how brightly they shone, they would never chase away the darkness.

Candlelight was more comforting – warmer and more sustaining – Angel decided. At least it made no pretense, never tried to masquerade as the daylight he'd never see again…

The daylight Buffy would never see again.

That last thought was supposed to bring tears to his eyes, wasn't it? Tears of which he could be certain, tears he would know were for Buffy and Buffy alone.

They never came; not a one.

So why had he cried in the car at Willie's? Because he had a horrible feeling he hadn't been crying for the same reason Willow had been.

It was best not to think now. Instead, he followed Willow as she pushed a rickety cart down the yellow-lit aisles of this purveyor of food that resembled nothing he'd eaten in the days when food mattered to him… There was ice cream here, he realized, trying again to draw forth tears from where they had to be lying in wait. But they didn't come – not even the memory of ice cream and making love to Buffy could coax them to appear.

It was because he was in the supermarket. That had to be the reason.

"Angel?" He was lost in thought – memories of Buffy, it had to be – and Willow hated to bother him, but she wanted to make sure… "Is there anything you need here? Or want? I mean, I know you don't _have_ to eat, but I thought maybe…" Her voice trailed off as Angel stared at her. Guess this was one more thing he didn't have in common with Spike, huh? She should have remembered or something. "Sorry."

He smiled at her softly and once again she realized she didn't understand him at all; she barely knew him. "No. I don't need anything here."

"Oh. Okay. I just wasn't sure because Spike…" Better not finish that sentence. Angel's smile disappeared and Willow quickly realized she'd goofed. "I'm almost done," she said. "I just need some cookies for Dawn and…" She'd been about to say Buffy, hadn't she? "I…I should get some chips and stuff for Xander, too." She'd slip some Weetabix in also. Spike, after all, would be hanging around a lot.

How long, she wondered, had Angel and Spike hated each other? Had it always been this way? Or had it started over a woman? First Drusilla and now Buffy.

"It's all right, Willow. Take your time. It's hours until daylight." They did have to make a fairly long drive back to the house, but Angel was nothing if not a creature of time and it didn't take a watch to tell him that it was about midnight.

Angel had always known that Willow was book smart, but he hadn't realized how practical she was – knowing where there was a 24 hour market within convenient driving distance from Sunnydale was no unimportant thing.

Which reminded him of just how _im_practical his knowledge was in terms of the lives of his human companions. Not even all the time he'd spent with Wesley and Cordelia and Gunn had changed the fact that he saw himself as so completely separate from humanity that being in a supermarket was like being in a foreign country. He'd been more at home on Pylea.

For a moment he wondered about Fred, but just as quickly his thoughts returned to Sunnydale. After all, there were several people taking care of Fred now and she was no longer in any danger. Not like Buffy's sister, her friends… Willow.

Soda? Check. Cheetos? Check. Weetabix? Check. Chips-Ahoy? Check. Along with the more nutritious staples like milk and chicken and bread and ground round she'd picked up, Willow figured they had enough to stay fed for the next few days. Oh…eggs! She'd better get more eggs. That meant doubling back to the dairy department. Why hadn't she thought of eggs sooner? "I'm sorry. I sorta spaced and forgot the eggs. You can wait up front while I go back and get them if you want."

A second later, his hand was on top of hers where it rested on the handle of the shopping cart. "It's okay, Willow." He had this soft, understanding look and she could tell he meant more than he said. She was irritated again, but she finally got it – or she thought she did, anyway. It bothered her that he expected less than anyone else did from her. Did he think she couldn't hack it? Was that why he was staying? Because he was sure she couldn't hold things together the way Buffy always had? She shouldn't have broken down in front of him.

She said nothing, but he followed her back to the dairy case.

"Why do you think they've been gone so long?" Xander grumbled. Not that he cared if Deadboy drove off and never came back, but Willow was with him and without Willow, everything felt more unsettled and empty…more like reality.

"They had to go to the grocery store," Tara said quietly from her place on the couch. "That always takes longer late at night. Not like the Ralphs here in town is open." Sunnydale, after all, wasn't like other towns… Other towns where gods didn't drain people's minds, where slayers didn't sacrifice themselves to save the world…other towns where vampires weren't going to be living in the same house with her and Willow and Dawn. "They'll be back soon."

Spike snorted as he rooted through a sadly empty cabinet. Looked like the Watcher'd been right – not a drop of liquor to be had in the whole place. Bless Joyce, but she'd lived a clean life of it, hadn't she? No stash anywhere. And a fat lot of good that had done her. Or maybe Buffy'd cleared out the alcohol. Seemed like something she'd do - bein' all responsible for Dawn's sake. Fat lot of good clean living had done Buffy as well. Made you wonder about all those ads on the telly reviling the evils of smoke and booze and drugs. Did it really matter – health food and plenty of sleep and lots of fresh air and exercise?

Dawn was upstairs sleeping. The others were all milling about, or staring off into space, waiting for Red to return. Spike wasn't sure he cared. If she and his worthless prick of a sire drove off a cliff it wouldn't add a bit to his grief. Still, he supposed Bit would be done in if the witch weren't here and it wasn't like Rupert or Glinda were up to the task of running things at the moment, so he supposed he wanted the absent duo to return – Red, at least. Angel could spontaneously combust for all it mattered to him or anyone else, he reckoned.

"Yeah, they'll be back soon."

"Are you okay?" Even as he asked, Angel knew it was a stupid question. "I'm sorry," he offered, backpedaling. "Of course you aren't okay. None of us are." Those last words rang hollow for himself, but he knew she needed to hear them, needed to believe that he was grieving the way she was. He wished he was – did that count? Because that wish was… Had he made a mistake by staying here and forgoing the monastery? Would he be crying for Buffy there?

If he were, would he be lying to himself?

"Thanks," Willow said. She meant it. Maybe he didn't think she was a basket case after all. It wasn't as if he hadn't offered to stay until _after_ she cried, now was it? She needed to get a handle on her emotions, start making sense to herself, or she really _would_ be a basket case. "At least everybody will be eating, right?" Pausing, she added, "Thank you for paying for everything. I'll pay you back. I just…"

Angel cut her off. "It's nothing. One of the reasons I'm here is to help pay the bills, remember? The last thing Buffy would have wanted is for you to compromise your education by having to drop out and get a job."

Willow sighed. The thought of going back to school, acting like everything was A-okay in front of all her classmates… "It's gonna be hard," she confessed without thinking. She immediately hated herself for her weakness. This was the second time tonight she'd shown him just how much less than she should be she was.

"School? Pretending?" They were pulling into the driveway now and Angel waited until he parked to continue. Then he reached over and took Willow's hand. "Of course it's going to be hard. But you're not alone. You have…" Angel fought back the urge to say 'me' even as he was bothered somehow when Willow filled in the blanks.

"I know. I have Tara," she paused (Was that pause what really bothered him?) and then continued, "I have all of you guys. Thanks, Angel." She smiled, but it was plastic and phony and it didn't reach her eyes.

He wondered what she was thinking and then, oddly, he thought maybe he knew. "You're a strong woman, Willow. Stronger than any of them." If she noticed the way his pronoun choice was self-omitting, she gave no indication. Instead the smile became sadder but infinitely more sincere and she gave him a brief hug. Just then he noticed several pairs of eyes watching them from the window.

Impatient, weren't they? But it did mean that he and Willow needed to get the groceries inside. It would be good for him, as well; he was starting to get hungry and there was a lot of blood in the trunk. "I'll carry in the coolers and the bags with the soda," he offered. Before she could make some feminist objection, he got out and grabbed the bags in question from the back seat – noticing her annoyed expression – before opening the trunk. She was just going to have to get used to being helped.

"I know the bed's kind of small, but…"

"It's okay, Willow." Angel stared at Buffy's bed. It was his bed now, at least for as long as he stayed here. Surely the tears would come now that he would be sleeping in a room surrounded by reminders of her. The room where they'd first kissed…where she'd first discovered what he was.

But now his thoughts were on a very different track. "What will Dawn say?"

Oh goddess. One more worry that would keep her from sleeping. Along with what would happen when Spike and Xander and Giles figured it out. "She'll understand. Or she will when I explain it." How she hoped that was true. "I mean, this is what Buffy would have wanted, you know? You being in her bedroom and all." She was trying for humour but she could feel it collapse under the weight of its own artifice. "Sorry. That was kind of inappropriate, wasn't it?"

"No," Angel said gently. He understood what she was trying to do, how she was trying to deal with her anxiety. He knew that, unless he stepped out and asked for it, he wasn't the one who would bear the brunt of everyone's displeasure and he knew that it hadn't occurred to Willow that he'd do just that – take the weight. "I'll tell everyone this was my idea, okay? Besides, it's the only arrangement that makes sense. You and Tara need the bigger bed." On the subject of being inappropriate, how wrong was it that he almost choked on Tara's name? But he didn't like the girl, not one bit. Willow could do better. Not that that was any of his business, he chided himself.

Willow felt that odd irritation again, and it was just as wrong as every other time; so she stifled her instinctive reaction and instead said, "Thanks." She stood there for a moment, feeling awkward and guilty for being annoyed with Angel. "Speaking of bed, I should probably head there now. I'll try and keep things quiet so you can get some sleep during the day. I'll be mostly in the basement working on the Buffybot, anyway. I have a ton of work to do on her programming." She didn't want to tell him that much of that work would be trying to keep the 'bot from saying insulting things about Angel. After all, he was going to have to pretend to be Buffy's boyfriend. It wouldn't make sense if the 'bot kept calling him stupid and saying that his hair stuck straight up.

"Good night," she said abruptly a moment later.

"Good night." He seemed a little startled, but what more was there to say tonight? Willow left the bedroom, closing what had once been Buffy's door behind her. Now she could go, lie next to Tara, and try to breathe.

Angel watched the door close behind Willow and he sat down on the bed, resisting the impulse to look through Buffy's personal effects. Had she continued to keep a diary? He wondered how honest she was in it if she had.

Unfair as his feelings were towards a dead girl, the way she'd misled him rankled. He'd come here for her and in return for his consideration and support, he'd been given lies and half-truths. Was that why he wasn't grieving as extravagantly as he should be? Or was the truth more disturbing?

Did he even want to _know_ the truth?

Maybe not if it was as unsettling as some of the other truths he'd learned. Like about Spike. Watching him tonight with the others… It was clear that he was trusted and was a part of the group in a way Angel had never been. Hell, Xander might not like Spike, but he bantered with him in a far less venomous way than he did with Angel, and he, like all of them, trusted Spike with Dawn.

It was more than that, though…he was _included_, seen as one of the gang even if he wasn't liked. Angel had always been an outsider, no matter how many times he saved their lives. Other than Buffy, only Willow had ever made any effort to include him.

If he was truly honest, he'd admit that he'd never really cared about being a part of anyone's life but Buffy's back then, but he wasn't in the mood for that level of objectivity. All Angel could see was Spike, a soulless killer, being treated better than he had ever been, and the chip was nowhere near to an excuse. Angel, after all, had a soul.

He got up and turned off the light, then lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Things were going to change; they would have to. He was living in this house now. He'd be part of their daily lives. He'd be fighting alongside them. Yes, things were going to change.

Another night of barely enough sleep. Willow had a feeling it wouldn't be the last of them. She padded softly downstairs, hoping she wasn't disturbing anyone, glad she'd at least gotten out of bed without waking Tara.

To her surprise, Dawn was in the kitchen. "You got the wrong cookies."

Now _there_ was a greeting for you. "I'm sorry," Willow said. And she was. Goddess, she couldn't even get cookies right. "I thought… Don't you still like Chips-Ahoy?"

"I like the crunchy kind and you got the chewy ones." The look on Willow's face… Dawn suddenly felt really bad. Yeah, the cookies had seemed like a big deal a few minutes ago, but they really weren't, were they? It wasn't like she hadn't eaten them anyway.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out a second later. "It's not that the chewy ones are gross or anything. I actually like them, and…" Dawn bounced off her stool and pulled Willow into a hug. "I mean it. I'm sorry. I was just…" She couldn't finish her thought. Not like Willow didn't know what was really wrong. It sure wasn't cookies.

"Thanks, Dawnie." She could see tears in Willow's eyes for a moment, and then they were gone. "But speaking of cookies… You better not have eaten them for breakfast."

Dawn turned her face away, licking the corners of her mouth. There weren't any crumbs there, were there? Willow lightly swatted the back of her head. "Caught ya." Oh shoot. But Willow didn't seem mad. Okay, that was good. She felt a very wrong expression tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"What are we going to do today?" Dawn asked softly, feeling guilty because she'd almost smiled and Buffy was dead and…

Willow hugged her for a second. "I have to work on the 'bot today. But I thought that since Spike forgot to take the blood we got for him last night, you could take it over to him."

Again Dawn felt as if she were about to smile and she hated herself. "Okay." Suddenly, she wondered about something else – after all, the couch was empty this morning – and blurted out, "Where's Angel?"

No, no, no. Please don't let this ruin what had been going so well up to now. But Willow could see the writing on the wall and it said 'you have to tell her.' "He's asleep upstairs."

Dawn's eyes hardened and her mouth set in a tight line. There went the nice bonding moment they'd just had. "He's in Buffy's room?"

Willow fought not to sound apologetic. She needed to get through to Dawn. "It's the only available bed, and anyway… Buffy was in love with him. Don't you think she'd want him to stay in her room?"

"I don't want him there," Dawn argued. "Why is he living here anyway? Why can't he rent an apartment or something?"

"He's paying the bills here, Dawn. We can't expect him to pay for two houses."

Okay, Willow was right and the logical side of Dawn's brain knew it, but… She hated Angel and she hated the thought of him in her sister's room…living in their house…always being around…lurking like some stupid vulture or something. "I guess. But I don't have to like him being here," she grouched.

Willow tried again. "I know you're not Angel's biggest fan, but he loved Buffy and she loved him and… He's being really nice, you know? I mean, without him, I don't know how we'd make things work. I'd have to drop out of college, that's for sure, and then there's the patrolling and… Can you at least _try_ to get along with him?"

Willow waited, hoping Dawn would see her point.

"Okay." It was one word, said grudgingly, but it was something and Willow felt a lessening of the weight on her shoulders.

"Thank you." She went to the fridge. "I know you already had cookies, but how about I make you something a little more nutritious to go along with them?" Not waiting for an answer, Willow retrieved a couple of eggs and some cheese and set them on the counter. "Omelets?"

Dawn nodded enthusiastically and Willow headed for the stove. So far, so good this morning.

"Need any help?" Angel's voice from the doorway startled them both. Willow watched as Dawn's face fell, but maybe now was as good a time as any for her to start to accept that Angel was a part of this household for the time being.

That reminded her of something; she and Angel had never talked about how long he was going to stay here. Funny how that hadn't come up. Or maybe not so funny. Buffy had only been dead for…three days. Everything was a big, chaotic blur and Willow was still struggling to get a handle on things, but she still should have brought up the subject and she felt stupid and incompetent. They would talk about it later, though, when Dawn wasn't here.

Glaring at Angel, Dawn went to the fridge and grabbed some bags of blood from the back. "I'm gonna go take these to Spike," she said, putting the blood into one of the plastic grocery bags they had stashed in the bottom left drawer below the dishtowels. She told Willow she'd accept Angel living here, but that didn't mean she was ready to make nice with him right away. She'd try harder some other time.

"Be back by three, okay?"

"Okay." With that, Dawn was gone and Willow was alone with Angel.

"She hates me." It was a simple statement of fact, devoid of the self-pity he reviled himself for feeling a few hours ago.

"She doesn't… I mean she… It's just… Okay, I guess she sort of hates you. But she'll get past it. She promised me she'd try." Was it odd that Angel found something warm and endearing about Willow's attempt to put a kinder spin on Dawn's feelings?

"It's all right. I appreciate you making the effort."

Willow was now officially giving up keeping track of the number of times she was set on edge by Angel doing or saying something that was thoughtful or nice or polite. Her psyche was completely haywire and she needed to hold herself together. And now she was suddenly wondering if Angel knew everything about Dawn. She hadn't really explained a whole lot when she'd told him how Buffy died. Did he know his memories weren't real? Should she ask? Or should she just leave well enough alone?

Well, being alone now, it was probably a good time to at least talk about…

"Good morning," Tara said, walking into the kitchen.

Okay. Guess the important discussions were all being postponed. "Want me to make you an omelet, sweetie?" Please let her just be imagining that Tara glared at Angel.

Just as Tara answered, "Sure," Willow headed back to the stove. Cooking was simple and, as long as you followed the rules, it always turned out the way you wanted it to. Right now, Willow wished life was more like cooking.

If life were like cooking, Buffy would still be here.

Tbc…


	6. Chapter 6

To One in Paradise (Chapter Six)

"Hi, Angel. Your hair sticks straight up and you're bloody stupid."

If Buffy wasn't cold and dead and rotting in an unmarked grave right now, Spike would have been laughing until his sides ached. He couldn't muster up the energy – or the emotion – now. The robot didn't seem like such a great idea anymore; it was just a reminder of what he'd wanted so badly and was never going to have. He sort of wished Dawn was here to hear it, though. Might have given the girl a bit of a laugh; she needed one.

"I thought I fixed that. I'm sorry, Angel." Willow felt like a total failure. Warren's programming was so different from the way she would have done it and she was having trouble navigating his code. She had to say that Ted's programming had been so much more elegant. "I'll get it taken out soon. She's just got all these weird commands and stuff and-" Spike and Xander were staring at her and she felt incompetent. Throwing her hands up in a self-deprecating gesture, she went back over to the 'bot. "Angel isn't stupid. He's your boyfriend, remember?" Willow was sure she'd programmed that into her memory.

"Yes, Angel is my boyfriend." Willow breathed a sigh of relief until the 'bot spoke again. "But I have sex with Spike. In lots of different positions." Its chirpy voice and ersatz Buffy-grin just made every horrible word it spoke an insult to the woman it duplicated. Willow was so grateful that Anya was working with Giles at the Magic Box.

Xander grimaced angrily. "Dammit, Willow. Can't you get it not to talk about sex?" The memory of that…_thing_ straddling Spike in the cemetery still made his eyes bleed and what was worse… What was worse was that he hadn't realized it wasn't Buffy – not even when he'd talked to it and it had called him a carpenter. Buffy never did that and yet… What kind of friend was he, anyway?

"Why don't you program it yourself if you think it's so easy, Xander?" Angel snapped.

"I didn't say… Look, I'm sorry, Will. It's just-"

"It's just that having this 'bot around is a bloody stupid idea is what he means. We don't need it."

"Says the one who had it built in the first place." As much as he knew that baiting Spike would bother Willow, and that he'd promised not to use the Buffybot against him, Angel couldn't help himself. There'd be time for contrition later; for now he'd let out some of his pent-up hostility towards Spike. "At least now it'll be doing something other than giving your hand a rest."

"And that's coming from the bloke who can't even think about shagging without losing his precious soul." Spike had had just about all he could take. Time for his sire to learn that the chip did fuck all to keep him from hurting demons. Then, just as he was about to leap from his seat and beat Angel to a pulp, Willow let out a shrill cry. "Stop it!" Bugger. The witch would more than likely turn him into a toad if he gave her precious Angel the thrashing he bloody well deserved.

Willow's temples began throbbing as the tension in the room became a force she could almost physically feel. She'd known Angel would never be able to keep his promise, but she'd sort of hoped he'd try for a little while longer. "Look," she said in a more moderate tone. "I get that this isn't easy for anyone. But can we just keep our eye on the big picture? Let's not take out our grief on each other, okay?" She went to Angel and put her hand on his shoulder; she was talking to him as much as Spike. "And let's keep the sex talk to a minimum. Dawn's upstairs." With Tara. Hiding from the Buffybot. Would she ever be okay with this?

"Do you need me to slay something?" the 'bot chirped from the corner where Willow had left it standing.

"No, no. It's okay. Maybe you should go back to the basement for awhile." Willow instructed.

"Okay, Willow," the 'bot answered cheerily. But before it left the room, it walked up to Willow and hugged her. "You're my best friend." It gave her a brilliant smile before turning on its heel and exiting the room.

All Willow wanted to do at that moment was burst into tears. But she couldn't could she? Not when repairing and using the Buffybot had been her idea in the first place. No, she needed to hold herself together. What had Xander called her once? The brave little toaster? Yup, that was her – a brave little toaster who was all damaged and broken with fried wires and a jammed crumb tray on the inside but bright and shiny on the outside…and the outside had to stay that way.

There was that thin, high scream again. Not something Angel could hear, but something he could _feel_. Willow was hanging onto her composure for dear life. But what could he do? Yes, she'd let him hold her through a bout of crying last night, but they'd been alone then. He knew the last thing she wanted was to lose control in front of Spike, or even Xander.

He wondered: Had she shared her tears with Tara?

Speaking for the first time since the 'bot left the room, Angel said, "You've done a great job so far. Especially considering what you had to work with." He hoped Willow realized he meant it. He could only imagine what the 'bot's programming was. In fact, he was pretty certain that the fact that it kept its clothes on was a tribute to Willow's skills. It must have been so upsetting for her, having to try to make this robot more like the real girl for whom she was deeply grieving.

That brought up something Angel did not want to think about: his own feelings. Because seeing that robot… No, it hadn't upset him. Annoyed him, yes, but it hadn't touched that well of despair he was wont to believe was there inside him, waiting to be tapped. Only a month or so ago, he'd held Buffy in his arms and kissed her. He should be in agony…shouldn't he?

Was he capable of truly loving anyone? Or had he lost his heart when he'd lost his soul and no one had known to give it back?

"I'm sorry." Xander's voice was soft, softer than usual for him, that was for sure. But he meant what he said anyway. He shouldn't have gone off on Willow. Not like Sex!Buffy had been her idea. Later, maybe he'd pummel Spike for it. Or not. Because beating up on the neutered vampire would bring down the wrath of Dawn. What the hell did she see in Spike anyway? Was it a Summers thing, this weird affection for vampires? Not that Dawn felt the same way for Spike that Buffy had for Angel - and could he just not even think about the fact that Buffy had had _sex_ with the undead jerk who'd invited himself back into their lives? – but it was still every kind of wrong he could think of.

He was babbling internally, wasn't he? Was this what it sounded like in Willow's head? No, probably not. Willow's head was filled with smarter words.

"It's okay." Willow appreciated the apology, but she understood his feelings. Sadly, what upset _her_ most was something they were going to have to leave in the 'bot's programming; after all, everyone – even the demons – knew that Buffy and Willow were close. "It's obviously gonna take me a couple more days to get her ready to be seen in public. Warren… Well, he isn't Ted, that's for sure."

Ted. This was someone Spike hadn't heard of. Normally, he'd ask if he was interested – though he rarely was – but Angel seemed to know and the last thing Spike wanted to do was admit that he gave a rat's arse about anything that happened when Angel was the token vampire on the Slayer's team. As far as Spike had always been concerned, nothing that happened before he'd become Buffy's main muscle meant a damn thing. Guess he felt differently now, but at least... His mind drifted to the girl upstairs – yeah, there was the proof that, deep down, Buffy had trusted him more than she ever had the King of Hair Gel, for all that Angel had been here first.

"I thought you saved his head," Xander said. Okay, now Spike's curiosity was well and truly piqued. Since when did the witch collect severed heads?

"No. Buffy was kind of wigged by me keeping it, so I got rid of it. I sort of wish…but I get why Buffy felt the way she did. I mean for awhile she actually thought she'd killed someone and thinking about me having his head…" She paused. Spike had that look on his face that he got whenever he didn't understand the conversation – the look that said he was bored and could care less but that Willow always figured meant something else. She decided he deserved an explanation. "Ted was a robot who was dating Joyce. Buffy accidentally pushed him down the stairs – before we found out he wasn't actually human and all. It was hard on her for a day or two."

"I remember," Angel chimed in. There was something comforting about feeling connected to the history of the group again – and in a way Spike wasn't and would never be. It wasn't grief, but at least it was something and it was related to Buffy so perhaps it would keep the guilt away for a little while.

As he drew forth his memories, however, guilt found a way around his defenses after all when it occurred to him that perhaps Willow should have gone against Buffy's wishes and just kept the head, even if it had meant lying. Ted had been a far truer simulacrum of a human being than this Buffybot seemed to be. Ted's head could probably have provided Willow with a great deal of assistance in turning the robot into a believable facsimile of the girl on whom it was modeled.

Well, now at least Spike knew who Ted was. Damn solicitous little witch had to stare straight at him when she told the story, making sure Angel was well aware that no one had told Spike the story before – or if they had, he hadn't paid attention. What else had he missed? How many moments of Buffy's life were absent from the fragmented biography he was going over and over in his head, wishing he'd been there for every bit of it? He wanted to fill in those gaps so badly.

"Joyce dated a robot, eh?" he said with desperately feigned nonchalance. "How'd that happen?"

"He was a software salesman." Red seemed to think that explained it all. Spike stared at her for a moment. Maybe it did. She and Warren were the only computer types he knew and they were both bloody strange.

Of course, Buffy must have known something was up with that Ted if she pushed him down the stairs. That was his girl. Nothing got by her –

Except Angel.

"No surprise he was a bit off then, seeing as how he was a computer type and all," Spike affirmed aloud. Willow was giving him that pity look again and he wanted to wipe it right off her face.

Naturally, he failed. Not only that, but she shot Angel a look and he didn't open his mouth either. Great. There went venting his anger and pain.

Spike seemed so lost. Funny how they'd all seen his feelings for Buffy as a crush before, but Willow didn't see it that way. She was pretty sure she never had. No, he loved her, didn't he? It was real and true and deep and agonizing. She wished they were friends – real friends, close friends. He could use one right now. Sure, there was Dawn, but Dawn was more of a little sister to him; she wasn't someone he could unburden himself to and Willow's heart ached for the pain in his. Maybe – with time – she could find a way to let him know she was there for him if he wanted to talk.

If only he and Angel could remember that they were family…. She stopped herself in the middle of her thought. That would never happen. They hated each other. After all, there was the whole 'loving the same woman' thing. And hadn't that now happened to them _twice_? What were the odds of that? Even for eternal types like vampires, they had to be pretty astronomical. Of course, this time the woman was Buffy and Buffy was pretty darn extraordinary.

Buffy _was_ extraordinary.

That should have been 'is' but it wasn't and it never would be again.

Willow found herself fighting back tears and fragility again. Was it more or less likely no one had noticed since there were only three people here and they were all guys? She decided to shift the subject back to business. "So. I get that the Buffybot isn't quite ready for social situations yet, but I think she's ready for demons. Who's up for patrol tonight?"

It had been so long since he'd patrolled the cemeteries of Sunnydale; Angel had almost forgotten what it was like. It had never really been like this, though, had it? Was it completely different now that Buffy was dead? Or was this close to what it had become for them all even with the real Buffy still leading the team? Later, he'd try and find some time alone with Willow to talk. He wanted to know more about the dynamics here. As much as he respected her and recognized how much she'd grown, she still wasn't equipped to lead the team. That job needed to be his – and he needed to know as much as possible about the way things worked to do it effectively.

But right now, he needed to do it as best he could despite his lack of knowledge. "There's three vampires about two hundred yards away – through those trees," he said softly. "If we split up, we can box them in."

Willow was about to say something when the Buffybot piped up, "Vampires of-" and she immediately put her hand over its mouth.

"Shhh," she admonished the robot in a whisper. "We have to be quiet."

"Too late," Angel grumbled as the vampires in question emerged from the dense foliage and Willow felt chastened. She'd been about to suggest helping with some magic, but there wasn't any time to plan with the whole group. Guess it was gonna have to be the old-fashioned way.

Grabbing a stake from the bag she was carrying, she was gratified to see that the 'bot appeared ready to go. So did Spike and Xander and Angel. Good, because the vampires were upon them.

Coughing, Xander got up from where he usually ended these little excursions – flat on his back on the ground. Nice to know that Buffy dying didn't change _everything_… he just felt like more of a useless loser than he had when she was here. "That was fun," he quipped as he brushed the remaining dust from the vampire who'd been about to go for his neck from his clothes. And no, he was not going to thank Angel for saving his life.

Leave it to Deadboy to notice the omission. "You're welcome, Xander."

"Thanks, Angel," Willow offered for him. Easy for _her_ to say.

"Nice work, Red," Spike grudgingly offered. It _had_ been pretty neat the way she'd mojo'ed his stake off the ground and back into his hand when that pair had tag-teamed him. She was a helpful piece, what with her bag of tricks and all.

"I'm a great Slayer." And the 'bot was heard from. Bloody hell. Hadn't Warren ever heard her talk? That pathetic twerp _had_gone to school with her, hadn't he? Spike was sure he'd been daft to think this was any sort of substitute for the real thing, even in the sack. Christ!

"I kind of have to work on her speech program," Willow apologized, forgetting for a moment and referring to the robot as a 'she.' "I just need some more time to figure out how to insert some witty banter, you know?"

"It's fine," Angel offered. He was trying to reassure her, though she didn't seem to take it that way. That was one thing about her that hadn't changed – self-doubt. The magical skill, however? That was very new and Angel was still trying to process it. Watching as she seemed to merely glance at the stake Spike had dropped…making it move right into Spike's hand… She was something else now, something powerful – more powerful than she knew, he could tell. He could feel the energy still crackling around her, raw and dangerous. Did the others have the slightest inkling? Or did they think this was white mice, pixie dust, and conjurer's tricks?

He didn't say anything about it, though, not sure which way to go. This magic was something he needed to think about. "I think we've wrapped things up. We should get back to the house."

"I feel funny," the 'bot suddenly said, making the oddest face and squirming a bit. Angel had no idea what she was doing but he got a clue when Spike suddenly ran to its side.

"None of that now," Spike chided, grabbing the wretched thing by the shoulders. It gave him a blank, uncomprehending look. "We've got company." Okay, that seemed to have done the trick. Thank fuck he'd not had her programmed with his own lack of inhibitions.

"But later, right?"

Spike stared imploringly at the heavens, blinking back tears. "Yeah, sure." He shot Willow a look. She'd shut the damn thing down or something, right?

Xander reddened. Anger? Embarrassment? Take your pick. But memories of this…_thing_ grinding on top of Spike were as fresh now as the day he'd actually seen it happening before his eyes and he wasn't okay with it. "We don't actually need this thing, you know. Between Spike and Angel and your witchy mojo, I think we've got the demon-killing covered. So why not just send it off to be Ted's new girlfriend in whatever afterlife freaky robots have?"

Willow turned her head for a moment, feeling like a failure. She hadn't done a very good job of fixing the robot's programming at all and she understood why Xander felt the way he did. But he'd forgotten the big picture. Before she could think of a nice way to remind him, Angel stepped in.

"We can handle it now. But what about if word got out that there was no Slayer? Like it or not, we need her." Guess Willow wasn't the only one who got confused with her pronouns.

"He's right, Xander," Willow said gently, going to her best friend and taking his arm. "It's not just about the fighting. We need her. The Hellmouth has to have a Slayer."

"Vampires of the world, beware!" the 'bot crowed cheerily.

Xander stalked off, leaving Willow feeling useless and horrible; especially when Spike hurried his steps to match, followed by the apparently still-lovestruck Buffybot.

Willow just stayed where she stood, staring after them, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"You haven't done anything wrong," Angel said. She started at the sound of his voice and Angel wondered why that bothered him.

"Tell them that," she said, half-mockingly, and he could tell that tone was directed at herself and not him. For a moment, he thought of holding her and soothing her and telling her everything would be okay. He wondered at himself, and he didn't act on his impulse.

"I will," he answered without a trace of mirth. She stared and he knew she could tell he was serious. "They don't have the right to criticize you, you know. Hell…" He ran his hand through his hair and paced, stopping himself from saying more. Something told him now was not the time to tell her exactly what he thought of her so-called friends and the way they had laid off every responsibility on her. "We should probably catch up with them," he said lamely after a moment.

"Yeah." He didn't try to take her hand as they hastened to follow the trio back to the house… but he wanted to.

What did that mean? He had a feeling he didn't want to know.

Tbc…


	7. Chapter 7

To One in Paradise (Chapter Seven)

"Round ones or funny shapes?"

"Funny shapes," Dawn answered. It was nice being in the kitchen with just Tara, getting ready to eat yummy pancakes instead of Angel's stupid eggs (and yeah, okay, she had to admit that they tasted really good, but since _Angel_ made them, they automatically sucked). Buffy liked pancakes. She wasn't any good at making them though; they always got burned on one side.

Dawn wished more than anything for one of Buffy's horrible/wonderful pancakes.

"Here you go." Tara handed a plate full of oddly-shaped pancakes to Dawn, watching as she slathered them with margarine and syrup. No one understood Dawn's pain better than she did; she knew that. The loss of her own mother when she was young gave her a painful awareness of everything Dawn was going through in losing her mother and sister within just a couple of months. "Next time I could try putting chocolate chips in them if you want."

She wanted to cry as she saw Dawn smile for a fraction of a second only for the expression to disappear. "Thanks."

"It's okay to enjoy stuff, you know. Buffy would want that." Tara reached across the counter and stroked Dawn's hair. Their eyes met, but Dawn's were blank. Tara set to cleaning up the mess from the stove while Dawn finished eating her breakfast. What she'd said – it hadn't helped, had it? She felt useless all over again. But then again, had anyone been able to help _her_?

Experience was the best antidote to self-pity, wasn't it? Tara thought so. Instead of feeling mopey, she got the dish soap out from under the sink and started running the hot water. A clean kitchen wouldn't bring Buffy back, but it was still a clean kitchen.

Willow sat in the corner of the bedroom, on the floor, just staring at nothing. She knew she should go downstairs, eat something, get back to work on the Buffybot. Motion was her friend and inertia her enemy…yet here she sat.

What she wanted most was to curl up in a ball and scream and cry and wail and have someone hold her and soothe her and agree with her that life was horrible and painful and unfair, to have someone take care of everything so that she could just _hurt_ for awhile . But that wasn't the way things were and she knew it. The someone who had to take care of everything was her; nothing could be clearer than that.

Grunting, she pushed herself up off the floor. Time to get up and get cracking. She was done with feeling sorry for herself. Because really? She didn't mind being in charge and all; she didn't. Somebody had to, after all, and hey – she had teaching experience and had practically been on her own since she was eight and besides – Buffy had been her best friend. Making sure that her sister was safe and secure and her sacred duty was done were all part and parcel of being a best friend right back.

Especially since she'd done such a lousy job when it really counted.

She owed Buffy. She owed Buffy for every day of life she wouldn't live because Willow had failed as her big gun.

So okay, Willow would fix the 'bot and keep track of the bills and make sure Dawn ate her vegetables and keep working on her magic so she could be something other than vamp-bait on patrol and keep Spike and Angel from killing each other and whatever else came up. Because those things needed doing and Willow was the best one to do them.

With a toss of her head, she put on her own version of a game face and went to the closet. Getting dressed would be a good idea, wouldn't it?

This bedroom wasn't going to suit Angel for much longer.

Yes, he realized that this was _Buffy's_ room and even he should consider it sacred, but that didn't change the harsh reality that he was going to have to make some changes if he was going to stay here. He could barely get any rest surrounded by all this girlishness. The posters, the wallpaper, the wicker chair… It all had to go.

What was he thinking? How much longer was he planning on staying here anyway? And why didn't he want to be surrounded by reminders of his so-recently-deceased one true love?

As much as he was suddenly bothered by introspection, it was time for some serious thought, at least on the topic of the length of his stay. How long did the others back in Los Angeles expect him to be gone? How long would Willow and… That was another thing. He needed to stop separating Willow from the others in his mind. Yes, it was true, she was the only one who treated him halfway decently, but still, he was here for all of them.

The vision of those wide, dolorous eyes fixing his across the lobby of the Hyperion came unbidden and churned up his orderly thought process further. He needed to get back to the topic at hand: the length of his stay.

He realized the answer was clear as crystal – and as complicated as navigating dimensions. He would stay for as long as he was needed.

What did that mean to his redemption? Would this scuttle it or could his redemption be found here? He would, after all, be doing an important service. In a world without a Slayer, perhaps a vampire with a soul could be the next best thing.

He sat back on the repulsively lace-clad bed. It had only been a few days, but he was already sick of the sense of anomie he felt here; he'd definitely have to do something about that – take charge, remold his environment around himself. Gone were the days when he was content to be the outsider. What he'd done to himself in relation to his still shaky team – the team he'd ceded to Wesley – back in Los Angeles was a grim reminder that he wasn't the comfortably solitary creature of old. No - and since he was going to be the bulwark of the crew here in Sunnydale, he was going to demand its respect. Of course, he already had Willow's…

There went his thoughts, turning back to the one person who insisted on remaining a singular presence unto herself, whether he would or no.

It would be better to worry about something else – like how to clear the room of Buffy's belongings in a way that didn't seem callous.

Then it came to him: Dawn. Wouldn't the jejune little brat appreciate his consideration in offering her any and all of her sister's things that she'd care to move into her own room? Of course she would. She'd already expressed her displeasure at having him in possession of Buffy's things so offering her the chance to 'liberate' those very items could well serve as a way to at least slightly ingratiate himself with the sullen teen – which would also serve to help him with his first order of business, refining the group dynamics to suit himself better.

Lying down, he decided to try and find some rest. It already seemed easier now that the possibility of a livable space seemed like more than just a daydream. Later, he'd try out his proposition on Dawn.

As he began drifting off for a short nap, only one thought troubled him: what would Willow think?

"Could you hand me that really tiny screwdriver?"

"This one?" Xander held up a tool.

"No, the _really_ tiny one."

"Ah, the one you can barely see."

"That would be the one." Willow tried to smile and it almost worked.

"Can I just say that the whole role reversal thing here – me, the guy, handing you, the girl, tools – is scarily emasculating." Xander was trying too. He wasn't nearly as good at it as Willow was; that showed in his half-hearted efforts at humour. She elected not to call him on it. After all, it was hard enough on him, being down here helping her with the 'bot.

Willow turned her attention back to the task at hand: trying to fix the Buffybot's programming. The past couple of nights on patrol had been marred by its rather unsettling sex talk following every kill. Thank the goddess Dawn had been home with Tara. "I really wish I could figure out the way Warren's mind works, because most of what he did in here seems…weird, you know?"

"Will, my computer knowledge pretty much begins and ends at porn."

She shrugged sheepishly, avoiding the obvious - but upsetting - observation that his knowledge might have some bearing here. "All I can say – again – is that Warren isn't Ted, that's for sure."

"But you can figure it out, right?" It didn't sound as much like a question as she wished it did. "I mean, you're the computer genius. You'll get all that creepy Spike-sex talk out of her in no time."

Xander's expression didn't allow for Willow to share her doubts. What could she do but nod and give him that 'brave little toaster' smile? "Sure thing. It'll just take a little more work."

No matter how many times she'd seen him and Spike do it, knowing that Angel was drinking blood still made Tara queasy. She wished she could startle him by speaking. He had his back to her and she moved quietly. Oh how she'd love to see him spill that mug full of blood down the front of his immaculately pressed shirt. But she knew he was aware that she was there. Vampiric senses – somehow they seemed more sinister in him than in Spike

How had Buffy ever fallen in love with someone like Angel? He wasn't kind or gentle or caring – and he seemed so cold and unfeeling.

"Tara," Angel said calmly as he set his now empty mug by the sink. He could feel the nervous anxiety she radiated. He'd lived here for days and she still hadn't gotten accustomed to him. Or did she just not like him? Well, in that case, he supposed he had no right to object since the feeling was more than mutual.

What did Willow see in her? She was, from all he could discern, basically useless – less adept in magic than Willow, maybe even less than Giles; less skilled as a fighter than Xander, of all people; timid; uninteresting. Her only value as far as Angel was concerned lay in her willingness to stay out of the way and to babysit Dawn. That was something, he supposed, but it wasn't anything he'd fall in love with.

"I – I was looking for Willow." When was she going to be able to speak confidently to Angel? She hated sounding so weak. She needed to do something about it, remind him that this was more _her_ house than his, that the Scoobies were _her _family.

"I think she's downstairs with Xander. They're supposed to be working on the robot."

"Oh." Tara paused for a moment. Should she go downstairs? Maybe in a minute. Now, however… Now they were alone and she could ask him something. She had a hunch it would throw him off-guard. "When are you going back to Los Angeles?" She stopped herself before she said something equivocal to soften her words, but she did add, "I mean, I know you have a business there and all."

Well, well. The little mouse was playing at being a lion. "I'm staying here for as long as I'm needed." Not much she could say to that, not without shattering the veneer of civility which so far had camouflaged their frosty interaction. Especially since they were no longer alone.

"Hey," Willow caroled as she and Xander emerged from the musty basement into the kitchen. She walked over to Tara and gave her a hug. Comfort was desperately needed right now. The Buffybot wasn't nearly as far along in her reprogramming as Willow wished she was.

"How did things go?" Tara asked. Then she saw Xander scowl and wished she hadn't said a word.

Willow sighed and leaned against her. Tara felt even worse. "I'm still trying to convince her –it – that it's not in love with Spike."

"Yeah, well, if you don't stop it from talking about his hard, manly body, reprogramming it is no longer going to be an issue."

Angel was this close to losing his temper. Hadn't he and Xander thrashed this attitude problem of his out the other day? "Willow's doing the best she can. This is Spike's fault, not hers. Why don't you bitch at _him _about the robot's programming?"

For a second, Xander was about to snap back at Angel when the horrible reality set in that Deadboy was right. "Sorry, Will." He was genuinely abashed. Willow was the smartest person he'd ever met. If she hadn't fixed that Buffybot, maybe it just couldn't be fixed at all. Warren had always been a loser. Leave it to him to make something this crappy and lame. Something that intensified Xander's grief every time it opened its mechanical mouth.

This wasn't the first time he'd ever wanted to beat Spike into a bloody pulp and it probably wouldn't be the last. "Where's Dawn?" he asked. He couldn't hear the TV going or anything.

"She's at Spike's," Tara answered.

"Do you think it's a good idea? Her spending so much time over there?" As much as Angel disliked the girl, he remained steadfastly unconvinced that Spike was anything but the same amoral menace he'd always been, even if he was reined in by that chip.

"He cares about her." As if Angel was going to suddenly be swayed by Tara's opinion.

"He really does." Why did Willow have to keep making this argument? She got that Angel and Spike had a history and that it wasn't a good one, but couldn't he at least respect her enough to take her word for it that Spike had changed? Besides, Buffy had trusted Spike. Shouldn't that soften Angel's harsh view?

"I guess I'll take your word for it," Angel said and it was such a relief. After all the griping from Xander and pressures that just kept building no matter what, it was nice to have someone back down without having to be prompted to…which she ought to thank Angel for as well. At least he'd gotten Xander off her back, though Willow was sure that would last only until the next time the Buffybot said something sleazy. She just wished she felt – oh she had no idea _how _she felt anymore. It wasn't just Angel who confused her. It wasn't.

"So," she offered after a moment, "Anybody want to join me for a little research? We've got patrol in a couple of hours and it never hurts to be prepared."

They'd discovered a demon clan – Nez'rai – that might be arriving in town and Willow was nursing a headache from Giles and Anya's argument over whether or not they were malevolent – an argument through whose din her own knowledge about the species went entirely unacknowledged. She might as well have ceased to exist for all anyone cared what she had to say. So now she was in the kitchen, wishing she hadn't sent Tara off for pizza, desperately in need of a hug and a kiss from her girl. She could still hear strains of the argument:

"I would hardly call 'barely disemboweled anyone' a ringing endorsement of their propensity for peace."

Leaning against the counter, she was debating the comparative merits of Advil and healing spells when a soft voice from behind startled her.

"Are you okay?"

"Angel," she cried as she whipped around. "You scared me."

"Sorry." That was the last thing he'd wanted to do. Willow radiated tension and pain and he'd been hoping to alleviate rather than exacerbate her discomfort. "I was just taking a break from the debate in the living room."

He walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder, surprised and hurt when she stiffened slightly.

"I'm fine, really. They're going at it kinda loud in there, aren't they?" She hated herself for the way she'd flinched when Angel touched her. It was rude and strange and it made no sense. They'd _hugged_ the night after Buffy died. Maybe the strangeness was grief. That had to be it, didn't it? But once things settled down and she could sort through her emotions, she'd make sense again, right?

"They've moved on to arguing about pronunciation," he replied, keeping his hand where it was. It occurred to him that her coolness towards him might be because of their earlier conversation. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Her eyes were wide and he could tell she had no idea what he meant. So the chill remained an enigma.

He went on with his apology anyway. "For the way I acted earlier. I know you'd never allow Dawn to be with anyone who'd hurt her. I trust you and I hope you realize that."

"It's okay," she said and it was maddening to him.

"It's not okay. You're doing an incredible job and I want you to know that _I _appreciate everything."

Willow wondered if she had imagined his emphasis on the word 'I'. She hoped so because it bothered her – bothered her in a way she knew deep down that she understood… and that even more deep down she didn't want to. "Thanks," she said stiffly.

Angel pulled her into his arms and hugged her. It was awkward, at least at first, but after a moment, Willow found herself relaxing into it. Maybe it was the timing. Only a minute or so ago, she'd been craving a hug and if Angel wasn't Tara – which he wasn't – at least he was someone. She decided not to think about the fact that this wasn't the first time he'd seemed to be there right when she was at her neediest and most fragile. What she focused on instead was not letting herself cry. After all, it wasn't like she was going to be able to stay out of the living room for much longer.

The feel of Willow in his arms should have been unusual and even uncomfortable – he wasn't the most physically affectionate of creatures – but it wasn't. It felt right in a way that was going to be unsettling when he was alone and thoughtful. Not now, though. Now he concentrated on letting her know without words that, no matter how much she was taken for granted by everyone else, he knew her value.

Unfortunately, at this precise moment, the back door opened.

Tara stood there with three pizza boxes balanced precariously on one arm. It was all Angel could do not to let the odd sense of triumph he felt show on his face. He didn't let go of Willow.

Tbc…


	8. Chapter 8

To One in Paradise (Chapter Eight)

"Tara!" Willow cried as one of Anya's 'peaceful' demons took a swing at her girl with a scaly, taloned hand.

Before using magic even entered her mind, she raced to Tara's side and pushed her out of the way, knocking her down…and winding up with her own arm being cut deeply by the Nez'rai's claws. "Ow!" That was a stupid thing to say, wasn't it? But it hurt. Oh goddess did it hurt. No time to think about now, though, because she still needed to protect Tara. The pain was draining her energy, but she finally found the wherewithal to use a shield spell as she stayed huddled over Tara.

Angel was dispatching a Nez'rai with his axe when the scent of Willow's blood overwhelmed him. He vamped and turned around, seeing her draped over Tara on the ground, seemingly fending off the leader with one arm. Damn it! Why the hell had he allowed Tara to insist on coming along? She was _worse _than useless – she was a liability. Vamping out, he raced to the two girls and swung his axe, beheading the demon with one smooth strike. "Are you all right?" He wasn't talking to Tara.

The demon's body hit the ground with a thud and began dissolving into goo, the head likewise. Looking over at the others, Angel saw that Spike was standing proudly over his own blob of dissipating goo. So was the Buffybot. Well, at least that meant all the demons had been dealt with. But Willow…

"Ow," Willow repeated. It was just as silly as when she said it the first time, but her arm still hurt and she felt nauseous. Probably the blood loss, as she seemed to be bleeding quite steadily. Letting down the shield, she wondered: Did she have the energy for a healing spell? She didn't get the chance to try.

Without giving Tara a chance to so much as try to help, Angel barked at her, "Give me something to wrap her arm with." Tara took off her sweater, trembling, and he snatched it out of her hands. She wasn't really surprised when he didn't say "thank you" or even acknowledge her as he wrapped the cardigan around Willow's arm and scooped her up. "We have to get her to the hospital now."

"Is she hurt?" the Buffybot asked. "I don't want her to be hurt. She's my best friend." Spike shuddered at the robot's simulated concern, it was such a pathetic mockery of the real girl's devotion to her friends, but out of the corner of his eye he was also watching the way Angel was behaving toward Willow. There was something there that was out of the common and that was a fact. Of course, it could just be your garden variety concern for a fallen comrade, but since when did Angel give a rat's arse about the people he fought with? He well remembered Angel offering him Xander as a snack just to distract him. Spike wouldn't do something like that - at least not now.

Back to the matter at hand – Red's arm had looked… Well, it was enough to make him curse the waste of all that blood. Stupid of her bird to have insisted on coming along on patrol and he wondered why she'd been so bloody adamant. Then he got a look at the way Tara was looking at his sire. Hmm. Maybe he wasn't the only one wondering just what Angel's feelings were. It might explain the bastard's total lack of grief over Buffy's death. Yeah, well, Angel was finally gonna find out what it was like to experience unrequited affection if he was pining after Willow. That girl was utterly won over to the pink side and that was a fact. She and Tara were as tight a twosome as he'd ever seen.

There was the hint of a spring in his step as he split off from the others and headed back towards his crypt. The gang would see to the witch; no need for Spike to tag along. Anyway, a sorry sort of celebration was in order and it wasn't a party to which he was inviting anyone else. Angel was going to be miserable at last and that made Spike as close to happy as he could be with the love of his unlife rotting in the ground. He hoped with all his heart that Buffy's spirit was looking down from wherever she was. She'd fallen for the wrong vampire, hadn't she? Bet she regretted it now.

"I can't believe I let this happen," Xander said to Giles. It was pointless, of course, because it wasn't like he could really have done anything if he'd tried. In spite of his much-vaunted manliness, Xander knew he was practically useless when it came to fighting. After all the years that had passed, he hadn't changed much from the boy who'd stood in the library and boasted, "I laugh in the face of danger. Then I hide until it goes away."

"It's not your fault," Giles said distractedly. He wasn't thinking about Xander and _his_ guilt right now – he was focusing on his own. How had this happened? How had he wound up a background player, allowing the ones he still thought of as children to put themselves in mortal danger without a true Slayer to stand between them and the darkness? Yes, he was grieving but that was no excuse for being so badly off his game. He was still a Watcher, even without his Slayer.

Never, never in all his time as a Watcher, had he fallen down on the job like this – not even when Jenny… He stared at Angel, who was carrying Willow, and a flood of angry memories overwhelmed him. Once upon a time he'd told himself that he could see the difference between the demon and the soul and that he didn't hold the latter responsible for the transgressions of the former. The fairy tale had ended abruptly, it seemed, when Buffy's body had fallen to Earth.

There were tears in Tara's eyes as she saw Willow's obvious pain. This was all her fault. If she hadn't been so stupid and jealous… She was jealous right now, watching the way Angel was holding her girl, even though there wasn't any reason for it. Okay, maybe Angel had some sort of feelings for Willow – which was all kinds of wrong since he was supposed to be mourning Buffy – but that didn't mean anything. Because Willow loved _her_ and that was all that mattered.

"No, this way," she said as the Buffybot was about to turn and go after Spike. The last thing Willow needed was to have to worry about that stupid robot.

They all kept hurrying, desperate to get to the hospital.

"All I needed were a few stitches and some painkillers and antibiotics. It's really no big deal," Willow asserted as she glared at Giles and Tara. Oh how glad she was that Xander had taken Anya and gone home. Giles was being even more overprotective than when she'd been in that really brief coma and it annoyed her. Okay, she'd taken a hit and that wasn't good but she hadn't come close to dying this time. Not like…

"It was far more than a few stitches," Giles chided her, staring rather pointedly at her bandaged arm.

"Pfft," she replied dismissively. "Once the meds wear off, I'll do a little healing spell and 'poof' my arm will be as good as new."

Giles said nothing. Her words brought up a host of feelings inside him: concern at the ease with which she dismissed her injury, but even more concern for her casually expressed intention to use magic.

It _was_ casual for her, wasn't it? He still wasn't used to her abilities. When had it happened? When had she developed this talent for calling on supernatural forces on the slightest of whims? He wasn't jealous, but… Oh dear lord, what if he was? What if that twist in his gut was less the worrying of a father for a daughter and more the envy of a man who'd once sought to tap the very forces she used with such facile grace and who'd achieved so much less than she had?

No, there might be some petty feelings mixed in with the noble, but Giles knew that his better nature ruled him in this matter: Willow had come so far, so fast and she needed guarding – not the least from her own success, her own hunger to test her boundaries.

Angel watched the play of emotions on Giles's face and fought back laughter. The man prided himself on his reserve and yet he was possibly the easiest to read of anyone in this room. Willow made Giles nervous. Understandable, he supposed, in light of Giles's accustomed role and the way it was eroding before the man's very eyes – worn away inch by inch by the crashing waves of events and evolution over which he had no control.

His own attitude was far different. Angel's admiration for Willow had grown leaps and bounds in just a few short days. From shy sidekick to comrade in arms, she'd become something greater than he'd ever foreseen and it… He wasn't quite sure what his feelings were today. Certainly respect formed no small part of the mélange. She was a formidable woman, and not just because of her skill with magic. She was strong and capable and willing to put her own needs aside for the greater good. How could he not respect that?

She had weaknesses, though, and it made him all the more convinced he'd made the right choice by staying in Sunnydale to help her. Because her tendency to self-sacrifice, coupled with her sentimentality, caused her to falter in a leadership role. Tonight was a perfect example. Had Willow taken a firmer hand, Tara would not have come out on patrol with them and Willow would never have been injured. Magic was all well and good, but it had its limits. If Angel hadn't been there…

Now, however, was not the time to express his concerns. Not in front of the others. Right now, what he needed to do was show himself to be in her corner. "Once you've gotten some rest, I'm sure you'll fix yourself up perfectly." He smiled and was gratified to see that she smiled back. Good.

Willow wasn't the only one looking at him, however. His eyes met Tara's for a split second and the dislike he saw amused him. It might have been some emotion stronger than dislike, but on a milksop like Tara even passion would wear wan and beige. Again he wondered…Willow, even as a schoolgirl, had been full of feeling. What could she possibly see in this pallid, timid creature? Without thinking, he tried to imagine the two of them in… Halting his thoughts abruptly, he felt a sense of disturbance. Why on Earth did he care with whom Willow shared her bed, anyway?

Maybe he was just thinking more carnally again after what happened with Darla. As much as a part of him regretted it, what he regretted more was the absence of sex from his life. He'd always been intensely sexual, even as a human. Celibacy wasn't natural to him and his night with Darla had brought that home to him with the force of a freight train bearing down on his soul.

But what it also brought home was how much he missed sex that meant something. That was something he'd known only once in life and unlife. With Buffy.

Why didn't that realization make him ache at the loss of the _woman_ and not just the experience, the sensations?

Shoving this latest uncomfortable reminder that he had yet to 'grieve' to the back of his mind, he rejoined the here and now and attended to the conversation going on around him.

"Dawn's not a baby. I think she has a right to know, even if you do the healing spell before she gets up." Tara wanted to stand firm on this. She got why they were worried about telling Dawn; she did. But Dawn wouldn't be helped by being lied to. She needed to be treated with respect and honesty. How could she deal with life and death and the real world if she was wrapped in cotton padding and never told what was going on?

Willow didn't agree. "She just lost Buffy. I don't see any reason why we should tell her I was hurt. It'll just make her all afraid when I go out on patrol even though – hey – it wasn't actually a big deal."

Tara shook her head. Willow didn't get it and Tara felt tongue-tied and awkward as she tried to think of how to explain. If they were alone, it would be different. But how could she draw from her own experience when… Giles was hard enough to talk in front of, but Angel? He was the last person in the world to whom she wanted to open the window of her pain.

So instead, she did what she always hated herself most for – she caved in. "Okay," she said, lying to the woman she loved. Because it wasn't okay; not at all.

Giles was glad that was settled. In this matter he came down firmly on Willow's side. The loss of Buffy was enough for Dawn; she did not need to be burdened with worry about the rest of her loved ones. The healing spell, recast as an element of the duties of protecting Buffy's sister, suddenly seemed much less worrisome. In all honesty, on a Hellmouth protected by an ersatz Slayer who was so much less than met the eye, Willow's magic was no doubt going to be required more often than not. What Giles needed to do was to see her as whom she was today – a capable and mature woman – and not as the pigtailed girl he'd first met in the long-gone high school library.

Well, this was a relief. Everyone was on the same page. Angel hadn't said a word. Now Willow could go get some sleep, replenish herself, and in the morning (well, _later_in the morning – it was 3 AM already) she could do the spell and fix her arm. After such a painful and tumultuous night, all she wanted was to cuddle with her girl and rest.

Oh God. It suddenly hit her – Tara had almost been killed! Tara. Her Tara. Her girl. There went any hope of slumber now.

And later on they were going to have to have a talk. No more patrol for Tara. After what Glory had done, Willow couldn't bear it if anything else happened to the woman she loved.

But right now... "We should all go to bed, don't you think? I mean, except for you, Angel, 'cause I know you usually stay up until sunrise and all, but…"

"You're quite right," Giles replied. The last of the adrenaline rush engendered by Willow's injury and subsequent trip to the emergency room was quickly fading. He needed to get back to his own home and his own bed.

Angel stood as Giles said his goodbyes and left, muttering some sort of pleasantry of his own. Observing the niceties was essential.

" 'night, Angel," Willow said, throwing him a half smile. His eyes were drawn to where her hand was linked with Tara's. He fought back his distaste and reminded himself – for the umpteenth time – that her love life was her own. For all his oddly proprietary and protective feelings, his friendship with Willow was shockingly new and it wouldn't do for him to suddenly begin opining. Later, perhaps… Yes, later she'd be open to his opinions and insights.

He watched as she and Tara headed up the stairs and out of his sight. For a moment, he considered staying downstairs, but something told him he wasn't going to be subjected to the sounds of lovemaking so he elected to follow a minute later. In Los Angeles, he'd kept vampire hours and the others had adapted to his schedule. Here, however, things were different and staying abed the entire day meant missing out on things he needed to see and knowledge he needed to gain firsthand.

Undressing himself, then slipping between the sheets of Buffy's bed, he began thinking about the plan he'd begun earlier. Before long, he had fallen asleep.

Willow lay in bed, snuggled against Tara, listening to her breathe. It was a soft, beautiful sound and it made her all the more determined to hear it for the rest of her life.

She was a failure, wasn't she? Because when Buffy was here, it had always been okay no matter who was on patrol. Tara wouldn't have been attacked if the real Buffy had been leading the gang. They wouldn't have needed Angel…or even Spike. Willow wouldn't have had to use any magic at all. But the demons would be just as dead and Buffy would have said witty, cool things and…

Willow's own breathing became laboured. The pain in her heart and her chest was overwhelming. Slipping out of bed, she crept out of the room she shared with Tara and headed for Buffy's room. After all, Angel was sure to still be downstairs and what she needed more than anything right now was to feel close to the best friend she missed so much.

Angel awoke the moment the door opened. "Willow?" Immediately, he could hear her heart about to jump out of her chest.

"Angel." She stood in the doorway, framed by the light from the hall. "I didn't think you'd be in here. Sorry."

"Come in," he said, wondering why she'd be here alone. Then the scent of salt hit his senses. Tears. She missed Buffy, didn't she? He was suddenly glad he hadn't been able to strip the room today. What he didn't find in here, Willow possibly could – comfort.

But oh how he wished his pants weren't on the other side of the room. He felt like an utter churl for not being able to stand when she walked into the room.

Willow was still clutching her chest as Angel turned on the bedside lamp and motioned for her to sit in the wicker chair. He sat up, too, and she watched as the sheet fell to his waist. It suddenly occurred to her that he hadn't gotten up and he wasn't getting out from under the bedding. He was probably naked, a fact which made her extremely uncomfortable.

This had been a stupid idea. She should have just sucked it up, stopped being a baby, and gone to sleep. Gosh it would be great if she could leave without being rude. But she couldn't. "Sorry I woke you," she offered.

"It's okay," he said, and he meant it. Her sorrow touched him. He thought of pretending that he didn't know why she was here, to ask if the pain in her arm was keeping her up, but he decided against it. She needed to know that, while she was the rock supporting everyone else, there was a rock on which _she_ could lean when the burden grew too great. "You miss her."

She couldn't believe what those three simple, unadorned words were doing to her. Her restraint was gone and tears were flowing freely. How could that be?

Maybe it was the way he knew without her telling him why she was here. Or maybe… She didn't know; all she knew was that for some reason she was never able to keep her guard up when she was alone with him. It bothered her in some indecipherable way but that didn't help her hold back. The tears kept falling.

"Come here," he said softly, and she did – going to the bed and sitting beside him, strangely forgetful of his nudity, letting him put his arms around her. The dam broke completely then and she sobbed, dimly aware of being grateful that the sound was muffled against his chest. He said nothing for a long time, just letting her unburden herself of her emotions. A disquiet part of her mind wished he'd step false – offer up a clunky platitude or something equally clumsy and unhelpful – but he didn't.

"Sorry," she said after her emotions had calmed and she became ashamed of herself and aware of him again. If he'd just let her go, she could pull herself together and leave.

Her apology came out of nowhere; it was meaningless and Angel said nothing in response to it, remaining thoughtful as he held her close. The warmth and dampness of her had seeped into his skin. Strange how it didn't make him feel human… but it did make him feel. And he understood – more than anyone else did, including her lover. Taking one arm from around her, he put his hand under her chin and tilted her face upwards so that their eyes met. "It's not your fault. That she's gone."

For a split second, her eyes grew wide and there was… was it a connection? Or was that wishful thinking? But she looked away. "I… I should let you get back to sleep. I better get some shut-eye, too, so I can fix up my arm." Then she was gone.

As he lay down, Angel remembered those eyes and his body stirred.

Tbc…


	9. Chapter 9

To One in Paradise (Chapter Nine)

Angel had passed an uncomfortable night and for once that could not be laid to the account of his feminine surroundings. His feelings for Willow were…troubling. His regard for her was so new and for it to be transforming was both surprising and… It would create difficulties; difficulties were already something he was facing in abundance.

Still, he'd learned the hard way that denial wasn't his friend – at least not denying things to himself. He wasn't sure he had any compunction whatsoever about keeping others in the dark – not even after the way things had gone wrong in Los Angeles. Something inside him whispered that perhaps everything had unfolded as it was meant to be. After all, under other circumstances, would he be here? Even with Buffy dead? He didn't think so; and they needed him here far more than his coworkers in Los Angeles did. It wasn't as if Wesley and Gunn weren't up to the task of handling Cordelia's visions; they never would have been so comfortable sending him away if they didn't agree that they could go it without him.

Speaking of his friends… Why didn't he miss them? Especially Cordelia. Just a short time ago, he'd thought he was falling for her. Funny that he didn't think so now. Now, with some distance between himself and her charms, he was able to assess his feelings and found them flatter and less exalted. Honestly, he realized it probably boiled down to frustration, propinquity, and lust. He'd already admitted to himself that his time with Darla had made it so much harder to repress his sexual side and with a looker like Cordelia around, well… He was a man, not a monk. It was probably her status as both his seer and his friend that made him inflate his sexual attraction into something more complicated.

Was that what he was experiencing with Willow? It would certainly make things easier if that were the case, but the evidence didn't support it. Cordelia, after all, was his type of beauty: florid, voluptuous, and (while he hated to admit it) obvious. Three adjectives which could hardly be said to describe Willow. He certainly hadn't found her attractive before (though he did concede that his demon had entertained an idea or two). No, this wasn't the same thing at all.

The sound of music blaring from Dawn's bedroom down the hall cut through his reverie. It also reminded him of something. Since Willow wouldn't be likely to creep in here seeking solitary comfort again after last night, it was all clear to put his plan for improving his surroundings in motion.

Getting out of bed, he went to the closet. Hmmm… Maybe he should also ask Dawn if she wanted her sister's clothes.

"I'm sure Willow's just fine," Anya said for the umpteenth time. She _was_, too. Willow was always fine. She was a powerful witch who could take care of herself – and who'd _better_ take care of Xander. "Why did you have to go out on patrol anyway?" she asked. "Because with Willow and Angel and Spike – oh and the Buffybot – I think they probably have everything covered. No need for you to risk _your_ life."

Xander, exasperatingly, did not seem to be listening to a word she said. Instead, he kept blathering on, telling her stuff he'd already told her over and over again. "And what's up with Deadboy? I mean, he's always creepy, but last night? Last night was his creepiest night yet. He wouldn't let any of us near Willow and he carried her – _carried_ her – all the way to the hospital."

Anya sighed. She had hoped to spend the morning on wedding plans – Xander had to work tomorrow – but she supposed she could always start planning later…or without him. After all, the wedding was all about the bride. It wasn't as if she'd seen any magazines called _Modern Groom_. Huh. Was there a market for something like that? Magazines could make a lot of money, right?

With her mind half-distracted by her new business idea, Anya replied with the first thought that came into her head. "Maybe he wants to have sex with her."

"What?" The thought made Xander sick. It was bad enough that Angel had ruined Buffy's life; the thought that he might have designs on Willow…

"I was kidding," Anya said, trying to undo the damage she'd just done. "You know? A joke? Like the kind you always make. Only mine was funny."

Xander barely heard his fiancée as he took a deep breath. Willow had Tara – and she was gay. Yeah, she hadn't always been, but she was now and now was what counted. And anyway, let's not forget Angel's very own chastity belt: the curse. So, okay, at least now Xander wasn't worried about yet another woman he cared about getting pelvic with that brooding corpse, but there was something… What Anya said was still bothering him.

"Xander? I really was joking."

What was it with Angel, anyway? Okay, he understood the reasons why Angel was staying here – they made sense. But… They didn't make sense the right way. They made Willow sense and Willow sense was book sense, not the kind of sense anyone else made. Xander knew he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he could tell when two and two weren't adding up to four. Something was off. He just couldn't figure out what it was. "Yeah, An. I get it." But he didn't. He didn't get it at all.

"Who is it?" Dawn yelled over the din of her CD player. Not like she didn't already know who it was. Angel was the only one who knocked that way. It was all 'I'm the master of the universe'. Spike made fun of Angel's knock, too, so for sure it was lame.

"It's Angel." She could barely hear him. Jerk. The least he owed her was yelling over the music or something, but no, he was always totally calm no matter what. He didn't even cry at all when… No, _she _was not going to cry. Not now. Not when it was just her and Angel. What if he tried to hug her? Ew!

She did have to talk to him, though, so she hit the off button on the stereo and got off her bed, going and opening her door. "What do you want?"

Nice attitude from someone whose bills he was paying. Knowing it would be counterproductive, however, Angel fought the urge to remind her of that very fact. Play the game; that was what he needed to do, play the game. He made sure his manner was hesitant. "I…uh… Can I come in?" She rolled her eyes but stepped back. That was permission, he supposed, so he took a couple of steps forward. Her arms were akimbo and she rolled her eyes yet again. Funny how he suddenly saw her sister in her. Good time to feign being cowed by her manner. "I… I had something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Yeah?" Like she actually cared. She had a hard time believing Angel had anything to tell her that she would ever want to hear, but Buffy would have wanted her to be nice, so she was going to at least pretend to listen.

"I was thinking," he began, and Dawn fought the urge to snort like Spike would have done. Instead, she stayed quiet, waiting for him to get to the stupid point already. "I know my being in Buffy's room has been kind of hard for you, what with all her things being in there and… I thought maybe you might like to go in and take some things for yourself. A few mementos and all. Whatever you like."

"Anything?" she asked.

"Anything," he affirmed, watching as her eyes gleamed in triumph. This had almost been too easy and his victory was confirmed by her next words.

"I want all her pictures and posters and stuff." When he said nothing, Dawn went on, enumerating each item as Angel did his best to feign surprise and even a bit of alarm, especially as her list concluded with the items she believed most useful to him. "Oh, and the chair…and the bed." She almost smirked at him. "I want Buffy's bed."

It really had been too easy.

Spike rolled over, the pounding in his head becoming louder as he moved. He'd been well and truly rat-arsed last night – no two ways about it. Why the devil did vampires, immune to every other human malady, still fall prey to Heaven's own curse on harmless revelers: the hangover? If he prayed to Buffy, could she intercede on his behalf? Surely she was a saint up there. She had to be. No girl better suited for the job, though he supposed no one was listening to the opinion of unrepentant demons on that score.

Were there _real_ angels where she was, he wondered? Creatures who'd show her the folly of having spread her own wings for a pathetic ponce blaspheming their name?

Yeah, all right, he was a bit obsessed with hoping that she'd somehow seen the error of her ways. Couldn't blame him, now could ya? The torch he carried still burned bright – no matter that she was a whole different kind of dead from his own. Love lasted. It did.

Well, it did for him, anyway. Angel didn't seem to have too much trouble moving on. Spike almost pitied Red; then he realized she probably wouldn't even notice. She was the sort who focused on the one she was with. 'Sides, she was far too preoccupied with running the household and trying to keep everything together to be bothered to pay attention to Angel brooding all over her.

Rousing himself, Spike reached over and grabbed his jeans, pulling them on just in time to hear… "Spike? Spike, are you awake?" Bit was here. Was it his imagination or did she sound almost chipper? He was prepared to kiss whatever or whoever had managed to make his little girl feel that way. "You won't believe what happened with Angel today!" Scratch that about the kiss. No way in hell were his lips and tongue getting anywhere near Peaches ever again. And how the hell had Angel managed to make Dawn so happy?

He pulled on his t-shirt and climbed up the ladder. Dawn was almost bouncing on her toes. Jealousy burned like a wildfire inside him as she practically vibrated with the news she'd come to share. He hated Angel more than ever. Was there no girl that bastard wouldn't take from him?

Gosh. Spike looked angry. Had she woken him up? For a second, Dawn wondered if maybe she should just leave, tell him about her awesome one-over on Angel later. But then she figured she'd have woken him up for nothing. Besides, this news was sure to cheer Spike up, right? "You will never believe what I did! I totally tricked Angel today! And you know what else? Thanks to me, he'll be sleeping on the floor!"

Spike almost felt his heart beat. He was so pathetically grateful that Angel hadn't actually wormed his way into Dawn's good graces that it took him a moment to catch up with her story.

Bloody hell.

As much as he wished he could see it the way Dawn did – and as much as he wished he could truly share her belief that Angel was a thoroughgoing moron – he knew, his own assertions to the contrary, that underneath Angel's soulful facade was someone selfish and reasonably crafty. He wasn't the demon Spike was, or even the demon Angelus had been, but he was tricky enough to pull a scam on Niblet and he had. Bastard!

There wasn't anything on this Earth, however, that would induce Spike to dim the sparkle in Dawn's eyes by telling her she'd been had. She'd find out when she got home and discovered that while Buffy's things were in her room, there was more than likely a brand new suite of furniture in her sister's old room. Then the spring in her step would be gone and the pain would return – but at least it wouldn't be his fault.

Leave it to Angel to redecorate before his supposed 'one true love's' body was even cold. No feelings at all. He'd always been that way. Caring for no one but himself, soul or no.

Oh well, Spike thought as he smiled at Dawn's continuing prattle, with any luck, Angel's petty little tricks would raise the wrath of Red and he would soon be lining the bottom of the cat's litter pan. Serve the poof right for conning Niblet.

"So," he asked conversationally, "how's Red's arm?"

Buffy's room was now almost completely bare.

"Thanks," Angel said as Willow took down the last of Buffy's pictures. "I appreciate the help."

Willow had wanted to find Dawn and give her a bit of a lecture for talking Angel into stripping everything out of Buffy's room and giving it to her, but Angel had told her not to. Dawn was Buffy's sister and he insisted he was okay with her having everything. It was nice of him – more than nice, really – and later, Willow would get something back as a memento to give him. She guessed she understood what Dawn had done, anyway. She'd lost so much in the past few months. It made sense for her to want to hang onto every scrap that would remind her of the family that had been ripped from her. Willow felt so much the same.

Would Dawn maybe let her go through Buffy's photos? Take a few for herself?

It was disconcerting, she realized, that Angel hadn't asked that same favor. Okay, maybe not from Dawn, but he hadn't even asked _her_. Come to think of it, she couldn't recall him asking anything of her, and he hadn't even cried on her shoulder – not really. His equanimity and unselfishness… she guessed they were why Buffy had never gotten over him, but on a level she didn't understand, they bothered Willow. Smallness and pettiness, a little self-interest, those things were, well…_human_.

Angel wasn't, though, was he?

And how wrong was it of her to be criticizing him for being better than the average person? Especially after today. The gas bill, phone bill, and internet bill had been sitting on the hall table and Angel had seen them. Without blinking an eye, he had blithely handed her the cash to put in her checking account to cover all of them – not even expecting her to pay for the internet.

She really needed to get over her issues. "Thank _you_," she replied. Because she really did owe him a whole lot of gratitude.

"What for?"

"For getting me to the hospital. For backing me up on the healing spell. For the bills. For…letting me cry all over you last night." She reddened and he could tell she was remembering what he'd been wearing…or what he hadn't been. He decided, however, to act as if he didn't notice her reaction or recall he'd been anything but fully dressed.

"What are friends for?" His eyes locked with hers and he hoped she could see how much he meant what he said.

Her reaction puzzled him. She instantly became even more uncomfortable and she seemed relieved to hear the doorbell ring. "I better go see who that is," she said, hurrying for the door.

"It's probably the men with my new bed," Angel called out after her.

Willow paused on the stairs. He'd already ordered a new bed? For Buffy's room?

Oh goddess. Get a grip, Willow. Angel had a right not to sleep on the living room couch. And anyway, Buffy would be the last person in the world who would object to Angel staying in her room in whatever bed he put in there. Heck, she probably would have thought this was the best compromise – she might even have come up with the idea herself.

With her head finally on straight, Willow opened the front door. Yup. It was the furniture guys. "Oh. Hi. Let me show you where to put that."

Dawn strode angrily down the street. She couldn't believe it. Willow had been hurt – badly – and nobody had told her.

How could they do that? Willow was… Willow was the one who let her cry, who told her to wash the dishes and go to bed by ten the way her mom and Buffy used to do, the one who kept the Buffybot away from her. Willow was _family_…and Willow had nearly been killed. It was all Dawn could do not to start crying like a big baby the way she had back at Spike's crypt. She didn't, though, because people would freak out if she suddenly got all emotional in public.

Still, just because she got upset, that didn't mean it was okay not to tell her stuff. She _wasn't_ a baby. She deserved to be treated like everybody else – the everybody else who knew what was going on. When she got back to the house, she was going to give all of them a piece of her mind.

Giles sat on his couch, staring into a glass of scotch poured far too early in the day. This was a practice he needed to cease. Buffy had always been concerned when she'd seen him inebriated. He still marveled that she'd never chided him for his hypocrisy in upbraiding her the night she'd imbibed the spelled beer. Perhaps she'd understood – he had wanted her to be better than he was.

She had, hadn't she? She'd been the most extraordinary girl.

And now she was gone. Forever.

No amount of telling himself that a Slayer was born to early death made the pain even slightly bearable. Indeed, the words mocked him instead. Because she wasn't his Slayer, not anymore. She was his daughter in the truest sense of the word. They were bound by blood in a different, but no less indelible way.

How did parents live with this? The ones whose children died before them? He'd never known such soul-searing anguish. Not even when Jenny had been murdered. Did it ever get better? Did it ever give a single, solitary inch of ground?

The scotch sat before him, offering oblivion, and he answered its siren song.

As he downed the contents and reached for the bottle to pour himself a fresh glass, he heard the phone ring. He ought to answer it, he supposed, but he was feeling maudlin and unsocial and so he allowed the machine he refused to abandon in favour of voicemail to answer in his stead. If it was important, he could get up and intercept the call.

He was greatly confused by what he heard. "Giles? This is Wesley. My condolences on Buffy's…" There was a pause – or perhaps Giles just blocked out hearing _that _word – and then, "I was wondering – of course you probably haven't heard from him, but I thought I would inquire anyway… Has Angel contacted you? He was supposed to be… Well, there's no need to trouble you with the details and all at a time like this. But if you've heard from him, I would greatly appreciate it if you could let me know."

Giles didn't go to the phone as Wesley left his number and hung up. He should have; he knew he should have. This had been, after all, an important call. But the scotch was singing in his veins and it crooned to him of making trouble for Angel (Angel, who was doing the things _he _should be doing – supporting the household, making sure Dawn lost nothing more than she already had). The longer Angel's people went without knowing where he was, the angrier they'd be with him for his thoughtlessness.

Good.

Another glass of scotch was called for. He'd worry about cutting down tomorrow.

Tbc…


	10. Chapter 10

To One in Paradise (Chapter Ten)

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Dawn was staring daggers at her arm and if looks could undo a healing spell, Willow would be bleeding again for sure. Why hadn't she realized that Spike was guaranteed to say something to Dawn? Not for the first time, she felt like she just wasn't getting it – not thinking things through. Buffy would have remembered Spike, would have known to go talk to him or lie differently or… something. Something better. Something that would have worked. Because _Buffy _was better, wasn't she?

"I… I didn't want you to worry. Because there was nothing to worry about. Look," she held out her arm, "this morning I did a healing spell and hey – all heal-y!" She forced a cheery smile and upbeat tone – and she didn't mention the emergency room.

Unfortunately, Spike seemed to have told Dawn about that, too. "So I'm not supposed to be worried, huh? When you had to go to the _hospital_?"

Great. Right now Willow wanted to stake Spike. At least he had no idea how many stitches she'd had to get. "It was just a precaution. Really."

Dawn was so not buying it. Uh-uh. Willow had done a healing spell, okay, but she hadn't been able to do it right when she'd gotten hurt. Which meant she was _really _hurt, because Willow was way powerful; lots more powerful than Tara, even, and Tara had been born a witch and everything.

But Dawn was a lot smarter than people gave her credit for and she knew that going on about how bad Willow must have been injured wouldn't exactly keep her in the loop. So instead, she put on her 'grown-up face' and said, "You still should have told me. I can handle stuff, you know." Not like she wasn't already handling a lot – what with Buffy being dead because of her.

There was never going to be a night where her sister leaping from the tower wasn't the last thing she saw before she went to sleep.

_"I love you. I will always love you._

Was that true? Not like she could ask Buffy, could she? But she still loved Buffy – so, so much. And she loved Willow. If anything happened to Willow…anything like what had happened to her mom or to Buffy…

All her resolve to be cool and adult went right out the window.

Without warning, Willow found herself enveloped in an almost Buffy-strength hug. "Promise me you won't get hurt again, okay?"

Willow was about to offer some sort of equivocal and creative response that wouldn't actually be a lie, but wouldn't be an admission that she couldn't promise that at all, when Angel appeared from upstairs. "She won't." The way he said it… Okay, she really needed to get over finding Angel disturbing.

Angel's eyes locked with Dawn's. Maybe she'd finally give him the respect he was due. At least there wasn't the usual air of annoying teenaged superiority. "She better not," Dawn said, and she said it as if she understood that Angel _could _keep Willow safe. Hallelujah.

"How's the new bed?" Willow asked.

"New bed?" Dawn couldn't believe it. All her dreams of Angel's endless uncomfortable nights had just gone up in smoke. This sucked.

"He needed it, what with you having Buffy's bed now." Willow was the voice of grown-up reason, so Dawn managed not to grumble. After all, maybe she'd been really immature, wanting Angel to suffer. He _had_ promised to look out for Willow. She didn't like him – she was _never _going to like Angel – but maybe she could sort of tolerate him and not mind that he wasn't going to have a stiff neck and a sore back.

"Yeah, that makes sense, I guess."

It was all Willow could do not sigh with relief. She was so tired of the tension in the house. Angel really had gotten it right by giving Buffy's belongings to Dawn. Now there would be one less thing tying her up in anxious knots…giving her more space to worry about everything else. No diminution of her total amount of stress, probably. Still, it would be nice not to have to deal with Dawn's death glares at Angel while he glowered back at her. Nothing could make _all_ the fretting and the panic go away. Only waking up tomorrow and finding out that the past week had been a bad dream – that Buffy was alive and well – could do that.

At that moment, Tara came in the front door. "Hey."

Willow came right up and hugged her, giving her a peck on the cheek. Tara was glad to be home. It had been a crazy day. "I have all the forms and stuff so we can register for next semester," she said, deciding not to complain that it had been harder to sort things out by herself and Willow had forgotten to tell her what excuses to make about their absence so Tara had been forced to wing it. Tara hated lying. She had only felt at all okay about it once in her life – when she'd thought she was a demon – and somehow she realized she'd only been at peace with it because she really hadn't been lying at all, even if she hadn't known that at the time.

It helped to remind herself that Willow had been busy today – healing herself from the injury she never would have gotten if Tara wasn't so useless on patrol. That thought changed her irritation to a ton of guilt. She clung to Willow a little more tightly and gave her a smile.

"Thanks, baby," Willow said, glad to see the smile on Tara's face. Her girl was the only bright spot in her world right now, the only person she could look at and not see the reflection of her own failures and not-good-enough-ness.

"I know about what happened to Willow," Dawn blurted out.

Not sure if Dawn was angry with Tara for not telling her, Willow told the truth on her lover's behalf. "Tara wanted to tell you. I made her keep it a secret."

"It's true," Angel agreed, instinct telling him that a well-placed word in Tara's defense right now might be a very good idea. The flash of irritation in her eyes alone was worth it, but he watched the others closely, noting an infinitesimal softening of Dawn's expression as she briefly met his eyes and a surprised smile from Willow. These, too, validated his impulse… especially, and disquietingly, the smile from Willow.

Did Tara sense his feelings? Was that why the little milquetoast disliked him? Was she that canny? He thought for a brief moment. No, she'd disliked him from the beginning, so it was probably just discomfort with having another vampire around. He hadn't noticed her as being too chummy with Spike, either.

"Thanks," Dawn said – to Tara, of course. At least someone here thought she was old enough to handle things. Tara gave her one of those sweet smiles.

Dawn was going to say more, but then the front door opened again. It was Giles. He looked awful; he always looked awful now. Maybe they all did, but she noticed it more with Giles. Guess he wasn't interested in pretending things were going to be okay. Her eyes shot over to Willow, who looked neat and pretty and close to normal. Was it wrong of her to wish that Giles was more like Willow? That he would at least pretend to be strong so she could feel like she could rely on him?

Now she got it – why Willow had lied to her. Okay, she'd sort of gotten it before, but she _really_ got it now. She should never have been so mean and angry. Because Willow was trying to be…

This close to bursting into tears, Dawn made a hasty excuse, "I'm gonna go and organize Buffy's stuff, okay?" and without waiting for an answer, she practically ran upstairs. She'd barely closed the door to her room before she lost it.

Giles was rather at a loss and he turned to Willow, hoping for an explanation. She wasn't the one who provided it.

"I gave Buffy's things to Dawn. She would have wanted Dawn to have them." Angel's expression was astoundingly even. Giles fought the impulse to stare into his eyes, to plumb their depths for grief. It would be provoking.

"Yes, I'm sure she would," Giles agreed. At least that was partially true. He knew full well, however, that Buffy would be heartsick if she knew that Angel had relinquished her possessions so easily and so very soon. Angel's face had very likely been the last vision in Buffy's eyes, his name the last word on her tongue. He wasn't at all sure that the reverse would be true. Again he asked himself why Angel was here.

However, these thoughts, along with his earlier resentful and utterly juvenile intentions, needed to be put aside. After all, he'd received a message for Angel and he really ought to give it to him. It might be very important.

His tongue refused to cooperate however, at least at the moment. Perhaps that was best, he decided. He would do well to wait until they were alone, so that he might question Angel closely without Willow's well-meant interference.

"I take it your arm…" He let his voice trail off. Was Dawn out of earshot?

"Dawn knows," Willow said. "Spike told her."

"Oh." He wondered again whether it was a good idea for Dawn to spend so much time with that vampire, but he held his tongue. It was getting to be a habit with him, wasn't it? That and alcohol in the afternoon.

The tension in the air was getting to Tara – along with the fact that she was disappearing. The conversation was bordered by Giles, Willow, and Angel and Tara could almost touch the wall that kept her on the outside. Buffy hadn't been dead for long and yet things had changed so much.

Or maybe they were really just more of the same. She'd always been an outsider, hadn't she? It was just that Willow wasn't pulling her as close to the inner circle as she had before. There were so many things in between them all the time.

Angel could tell how uncomfortable and awkward she felt; she knew it. She hated him. He was everything she'd been terrified she'd become when she'd thought she was a demon. And he saw things – too much – he was a predator with a predator's eyes.

"It'll be dark soon," she offered, trying to climb over the wall. "We should get r-ready for patrol." Why had she stuttered? She hated when she stuttered.

Goddess. After her encounter with Angel last night, Willow had forgotten about talking to Tara. She took her hand and, without a word to the others, led her into the dining room. "Can we talk for a minute?" Tara was looking at her as if she knew what Willow was going to say. Good. That helped. "I want you to stay with Dawn tonight, okay?"

Tara's eyes were wide and almost liquid, but Willow knew this was the right thing to do. Tara could have been killed last night and the thought of losing Tara… As hard as Buffy's death was, if anything were to happen to Tara, Willow would be completely destroyed.

"I understand." And Tara did. After all, if she hadn't been there, Willow would never have gotten hurt. She remembered the way Willow had bled – it scared her even now.

Willow took Tara's hands in hers. "I just don't want anything to happen to you. Last night…when that demon attacked you. I was so scared that I wouldn't be able to get to you in time." All of the fear she'd felt was shining in her eyes.

_That_was Willow's reason for wanting her to stay home? She'd been so silly, hadn't she? Thinking that this was about her getting Willow injured. She pulled Willow into her arms. "It's okay," she said. A second later, she added, "I love you, you know."

"I love you, too." Holding her girl, for a brief moment, Willow felt peaceful and safe.

The feeling didn't last.

Angel interrupted their moment. "Spike's here. It's time for us to head out. You better go downstairs and get the Buffybot."

They were safely away from the house when Spike decided to make something clear. "You should have told Dawn about what happened."

No surprise when his sire glared daggers at him, but he was thrown for a bit of a loop when Red stopped the incipient argument cold with, "You're right."

What do you know: the girl had some sense. "Nice to know you agree with me. Bit's been through a lot. Last thing she deserves is to be lied to."

"Dawn's my sister. Nobody should lie to her but me," the Buffybot chirped.

"I know, Spike," Willow agreed again, ignoring the robot and hoping Spike would just drop it now. She'd agreed with him despite still feeling sort of ambiguous and the last thing she wanted was to be probed too closely.

She looked over at Angel, hoping he would stay out of this. She knew he still couldn't stand Spike and tended to look for opportunities to needle him, but right now, she was really hoping for as much peace and harmony as you could get while out looking for bad guys to kill. Much to her relief, he remained silent. The look in his eyes bothered her, but she put it down to her still being wigged about being alone with him when he was naked last night – oh, and the fact that he was still the only person with whom she'd shared her grief. Yeah, that was weird and unnerving.

Focus, Willow. Who knew what kind of demons were about? The last thing she needed was to get caught out.

Angel kept close watch on Willow as they reached the cemetery. At least tonight there'd be no Tara to put her in jeopardy. Just as he thought that, he noticed the earth of the grave she was near begin to move. "Look out!" he cried, just as a hand popped up from the dirt.

"Vampires of the world, beware!" the Buffybot crowed.

With that, the fledge burst from the grave.

Willow was the first to engage it, aiming with her stake. She missed its heart, but got its neck, sending it flailing right into the Buffybot's own better-positioned stake.

"Is it just me or was that pathetic?" Spike groused.

"Fledglings today," Angel snorted and Spike couldn't stop himself from chuckling. But when his eyes met Angel's he was relieved to see that it didn't mean they were bonding. There was the same cold spite he was used to.

No time to rejoice in their continued mutual antipathy, however. Two vampires were headed their way. Not newborns, either. Good. There was gonna be some real violence tonight. "Ready, kids?"

They were on their way back to the house at a little after midnight. The three vamps they'd encountered early on had been the sum total of the demonic action tonight. Unless you counted the Buffybot's incessant attempts to initiate sex with Spike.

"Damn it, Red. When the hell are you going to fix this thing?" Spike groused, much to the confusion of the pouting 'bot.

"If you hadn't needed to buy a robot in order to have something around that actually wanted to sleep with you…" Angel's voice trailed off when Willow shot him a pleading look. All the tension and the burdens she insisted on carrying alone were taking their toll.

"What robot?" the Buffybot asked. "Spike would never need to buy a robot to have sex with. He does the most wonderful thing with his…"

"That's enough!" Willow cried. "I think we get the point."

The 'bot smiled at her. "I understand, Willow. You're recently gay and so are not interested in hearing about what I do with Spike. But it really is amazing when he…"

This time Spike grabbed the 'bot around the neck and put his hand over her mouth. "No need to share the details."

Angel fought back the urge to laugh. How insecure could Spike possibly be? Programming this robot to worship his prowess in such exaggerated and melodramatic fashion. It was pathetic and pitiful…but also quite hilarious.

It pained him to have to pass up a chance to really hit Spike where it hurt, but Willow was more important and so he held his tongue in deference to her feelings.

"I did my best, Spike. I just haven't figured out all of Warren's programming yet." Didn't he understand that she hated the Buffybot's endless sex talk as much as he did? It was an insult to Buffy's memory. But no matter what she tried, nothing seemed to work. Kind of like everything else she did, huh? Her magic hadn't been needed at all. Heck, she hadn't even staked a vampire tonight – unless getting it in the neck counted.

She failed at everything she tried.

Now here they were: home. She could take the robot to the basement and shut her off. Tomorrow she'd work on her programming again. She'd get it right someday, wouldn't she?

Willow was downstairs with the robot and Spike had left for his crypt. That left Angel alone in the living room…with Giles. Why was the man still here? Not that he was going to ask.

Giles stared at Angel for a moment, wondering how to broach the subject of the phone call he'd received. After all, here was his chance to confront the vampire alone. While his mind was busily trying to concoct an opening gambit, his tongue decided to go ahead and simply blurt out, "I received a very interesting phone call today." He paused. Well, there went finesse, but perhaps it was better this way. He'd caught Angel off-guard. "It was Wesley. He wanted to know if I'd heard from you."

So that was it. He was surprised, frankly. His coworkers were expecting him to be at the monastery for quite awhile. But if he was taken aback, he made sure it didn't show in his mien. "Was there an emergency?" Angel asked in the most even tone.

"No, but he seemed curious as to your whereabouts." Angel could tell Giles was about to say more when Willow entered the room. Was it his imagination or did Giles seem upset by her appearance at this juncture? Well, well. The old man had been looking for a bit of a confrontation. Too bad he wouldn't get it.

"Who was curious?" Willow asked.

Angel beat Giles to the punch. "Wesley called Giles looking for me."

"Why didn't he call here?"

"I didn't tell him that I was staying here." Angel suppressed his smug satisfaction at seeing the near-disappointment on Giles's face at his honesty.

Willow was surprised. "Why not?" She'd sort of taken it for granted that Angel had called Wesley or Cordelia and told them what was going on.

"I was going to be at that monastery, unreachable, anyway. I didn't think it was necessary. Besides, I didn't know," he paused for a moment, "I didn't know how they'd react to my being here instead of doing a spiritual retreat."

Even Giles had to concede there was a certain logic there, though he was still suspicious. For now, he'd take Angel at his word.

"I wonder why he called," Willow mused.

"I don't know, but I'll call him back in the morning and see what's up," Angel replied. He supposed he would, though he'd probably lie when he did. The last thing he wanted was to be summoned back to Los Angeles like some errant child who hadn't done as he was told, and he had a nagging hunch that was exactly what would happen.

"That seems an excellent idea." Giles had more questions, but he knew there'd be no answers for them now. Perhaps tomorrow he'd have a better chance. Possibly he could come by during the day and see. For now… "I had best be getting home. Good night," he said.

Willow walked him to the door and, after a few pleasantries, Giles headed out to his car and drove away.

If Angel thought the conversation had ended with Giles's departure, he was mistaken.

"What's going on, Angel? I mean really. I know what you said just now but it doesn't make sense. You're the boss, right? Why wouldn't they need to know where you are?"

She was clever, that was for sure, and it made Angel all the more painfully aware of why his feelings had evolved the way they had and so quickly. But he was a demon and a lot more shrewd. As much as he hadn't wanted to discuss the way things had changed back at the agency, he realized that revealing some of it was currently his best bet. "I'm not the boss anymore. The agency is Wesley's now."

The dumbfounded expression on Willow's face told him he'd taken back control.

Tbc…


	11. Chapter 11

To One in Paradise (Chapter Eleven)

Willow found herself feeling sorrier for Angel than ever now. After all, listening to Angel's tale of how he'd lost his own agency, how could she help but feel badly for him? Dusting Darla, his own sire, had to have been traumatic, and with her coming back as a human only to be sired again by Drusilla… Well it made sense that he'd been affected by that and even that he'd gone off the rails a little. Frankly, she wasn't sure she didn't think everyone in L.A. were jerks. Because Buffy had left her and Xander and Giles for a whole summer – without a word – but they didn't tell her she couldn't be in charge of patrols and stuff anymore when she came back. Though Willow had stayed kinda mad at her for awhile.

Could she please go back in time and take back every harsh word she'd said to Buffy? Not just then but ever?

Watching the play of emotions on Willow's face, Angel decided he'd been judicious in what he'd told her. He'd revealed some – though not all – of his relationship with Darla and a smattering of his dealings with Wolfram and Hart. Enough to seem frank without leading Willow to question his fitness to take charge here and now. Because really, that was all over and done and he'd made amends, and then some, to his associates in L.A. There was no need to confuse the situation.

Strange. Back in L.A., he would have sworn that he'd accepted and even agreed with the new order and the need to prove himself all over again. He didn't seem to feel that way at all now. No, now when he gazed south, all he could see was injustice and it chafed in a way it hadn't before. Something had broken within him but he elected not to ponder what it was. And no, there'd be no introspective analysis of his revanchist agenda here in Sunnydale either.

Instead of brooding and picking himself apart, he focused on Willow, who now seemed lost in reverie. Not hard to guess who she was thinking about, but he wondered what exactly the memories were. "I'd offer you a penny, but your thoughts are worth more than that." He realized he meant the words as he spoke them but he was surprised by them all the same.

Again Angel made her uncomfortable and again Willow felt stupid for it. She shrugged and answered. "Buffy." The look on his face let her know he knew that part and expected more. She owed it to him, she realized, after he'd opened up to her about Darla. "I was thinking about when she left – you know, after she had to…" her words trailed off as it occurred to her that her memories might just add more pain to the load he was carrying. But he just kept looking at her expectantly. "I remembered how mad I was at her for leaving and when she came back… I wish I could take back everything I said and did, you know? I just want to go back and hug her and eat Ben & Jerry's with her and never ever have fought with her, and…"

She started sobbing. There were so many thoughts she wished she'd never allowed into her head, so many words she wished she'd never said, so many times she wished she'd just found some way to not be angry with her best friend.

_Oh, no. Have a great time. Oh, oh, and don't forget to not write._

_But, see, it's that exact thing that-that's just ticking me off! It's this whole 'Slayers only' attitude. I mean, since when wouldn't I understand? You, you talk to me about everything. I-it's like all of a sudden I-I'm not cool enough for you because I can't kill things with my bare hands._

_I mean, I'm going through something. You'd think every once in awhile Buffy would make best friends a priority._

So much selfishness and stupidity and now it was too late to make up for any of it. Too late.

Angel didn't hesitate for a moment, pulling Willow into his arms. "I know," he said softly as he felt her tears soaking his shirt. And he did. Conflicted feelings, regret… They burned and they left scars that never healed.

For the first time – really – he was feeling Buffy's loss and regretting things he hadn't said to her…but they weren't at all the things he'd always told himself he wanted to say. Instead, he almost started as he realized that what he really wished he'd done was…

…let her go.

It hadn't been right, or fair, had it? Letting the both of them cling to something that hadn't existed for what he was terrified was a very long time. But it had been less fair to her. She had died with her heart still tethered to an anchor, an anchor which had kept her from moving forward and finding what she of all people deserved to brighten a tragically short life.

Buffy's death was real now, and heartbreaking; Angel found himself clutching Willow tightly…and shedding tears of his own. He'd hurt Buffy even after leaving, he really had, and the fact that he hadn't meant to – hadn't even realized he was doing it – didn't change the fact that it was done and there wasn't anything he could do to change things. "I'm sorry, Buffy," he said softly.

Tara had heard noise downstairs. Willow should be up here by now. So Tara got out of bed and put on a robe, mindful of it not being just family in the house these days. She was already tired of having to worry about what she wore or said, but it wasn't going to change, was it.

Putting her slippers on, she padded down the staircase…

And there was Willow – _her_ Willow – in Angel's arms; she was crying like her heart was breaking. She hadn't cried like that with Tara. It was wrong to be jealous of this, Tara knew that. She should be either glad that Willow was finally letting it out (even if it was with Angel) or upset that Willow was so sad. But she was jealous and it hurt, the way anything petty and small always did. "Hey." Her voice was low but it boomed in her ears.

Willow pushed herself away from Angel as if she'd been caught. Which was silly because… Well because. It wasn't like crying was something she needed to feel guilty about.

No, she didn't want to think about the fact that she _did_ feel guilty…or that conversely a part of her was grateful that Tara had interrupted. "Hey, sweetie." She got up from the couch and went straight to Tara. "I was about to go to bed. Angel and I…we were just talking about Buffy."

At this very moment, Angel's feelings about Willow's little girlfriend moved from dislike to absolute loathing. Willow's warm body pressed against him, the melancholy comfort he had found crying into her hair – he felt the loss keenly. There were other emotions and sensations he'd been experiencing as well. Had Willow felt them, too? Was that why she'd leapt from the couch so readily?

No chance to talk tonight, however. Instead, he schooled his expression into something bland and equable and said, "I'm gonna go feed before I head upstairs. If you ladies will excuse me."

"Sure. 'night, Angel." Willow's words were enough excuse for him. He nodded in reply and went straight to the kitchen. Blood would go down very well right now. No, he didn't wish it were Tara's. Blood that thin? It wouldn't be nourishing at all.

Another morning. It was early, though. Willow could just see the faint light of sunrise peeking through the curtains. She'd barely slept. Not surprising. She was tense and wound up. Not like she'd had her usual outlet, after all. She and Tara hadn't made love in… Not since Glory had drained Tara's mind.

Was it shallow and selfish of her to crave sex at a time like this? She couldn't help it. Ever since the first time, she'd liked sex – a lot. More than Oz had, actually – at least with her, she'd discovered later – and for awhile she'd kind of felt like a slut. But when she'd met Tara… Tara made her feel comfortable with herself as a sexual person. She'd also allayed Willow's fears about her skill as a lover. But more than that – Tara had shown her that sex could be part of a relationship in a way that was affirming and giving and...fun. Willow needed that so much right now.

Tara stirred, her eyes opening and staring into Willow's…and then she smiled. Was it an invitation? Willow hoped so. She leaned down and kissed her girl, softly and sweetly but with intent.

The fingers that wound into her hair, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, were permission and Willow's hands began doing some exploring, relearning the curves of Tara's breasts and hips. It was like coming home after a long trip to somewhere harsh and far away. It was a reminder that Buffy's death hadn't drained the life out of the whole world.

"What about Angel? Aren't you worried he might hear us?" Tara panted as their lips finally parted. She wanted Willow so badly, but the thought of the creepy vampire listening in… It was inhibiting.

Willow's lips curved into a wicked smile. "No problem. I've got it covered." Tara gave her a quizzical look and she continued. "A little cloaking spell and no one will be the wiser. I can make you scream as loud as you want."

No. As much as Tara wanted to make love to Willow and as much as she didn't want to kill the mood… She sat up, pushing her nightshirt back down her hips as she did. "Willow, you're using magic all the time now and it's… It's too much. You need to understand that magic isn't supposed to be used like this – for everything."

"You're the one who was worried about someone hearing us. What are we supposed to do, pack our toothbrushes and go running off to the local motel?"

"I just meant maybe we should try being quiet or something. And I mean it. I'm worried about all this magic you're using." They'd sort of had this argument before, hadn't they? Tara hated that it was necessary to have it now. But she was right and she knew it.

"Fine," Willow said through gritted teeth. "No magic. Now if it's okay with you, I'm gonna take a shower and then go downstairs and make myself some breakfast. Oh, and I'll make sure to just use a stove and utensils and food." She all but jumped out of bed, grabbing a change of clothes out of the closet and only just remembering not to slam the bedroom door as she left for the bathroom. She was angry and sad and frustrated and she'd never felt so alone. Maybe Buffy's death really had drained the whole world.

Blood out of a plastic bag. Spike was never going to get used to it. Not even a turn in the microwave could make this stuff resemble the warm, living nectar he'd once taken it for granted he'd get straight from the source.

It had been worth it for awhile, when he'd been trying to prove himself to Buffy, make her see him as a man and not just a demon, but now…now… Now all it did was remind him that he was chipped and helpless.

And alone. Couldn't forget that part. Not if he tried.

For a fleeting moment he pondered the idea of tricking Red into letting the 'bot visit every now and then but he dismissed the thought. It was one thing when Buffy was alive but with her gone it was sacrilege and heresy and profaning a saint.

The microwave beeped, the sound bouncing off the musty walls. Meal time.

Taking the mug over to the sofa, he turned on the telly. Nothing much was on, but the noise was welcome. He hoped Bit would visit early. Loneliness was lonelier than ever now.

Anya stared into the bathroom mirror. She needed to put her makeup on and get ready for work, but for some reason she was caught up in thinking about mortality. She kept staring at her reflection, leaning in to look for the signs of impending death – the crows feet forming at the corner of each eye, the tiny frown lines around her mouth, the way her brow wasn't quite perfectly smooth.

Oh God. She had, at most, 50 or 60 years to live. And that was only if she was lucky. What if someone tried to rob the Magic Box and she got shot? What if she was hit by a bus? What if a Snorlax demon beheaded her?

What if Xander was kidnapped by an evil Hell god and she had to sacrifice herself to save him?

She would do that, she realized. She'd jump off a tower just like Buffy had if it meant saving Xander. She'd sacrifice the few, measly mortal years she had for him.

This was love, wasn't it? When you were willing to do something stupid for someone else, something that meant you wouldn't even be around for them to thank you with lots of sex or money.

The engagement ring on her hand looked blurry as she gazed down at it and Anya realized she was crying. Love was miserable and illogical and a terrible obstacle to putting on makeup. All the same, Anya was very glad she loved Xander.

It occurred to her to wish that Buffy had been able to have the kind of love that Anya had with Xander before she died. It seemed like she should have, what with being a Slayer and all. Someday maybe Anya would figure out why the world was so unfair. For now, though, she dried her eyes and got back to the business of putting on foundation. Oh, and if she had time, she'd check online and see if there were any positions she and Xander hadn't tried yet. After all, she'd only be this limber for so long.

Tara lay across the bed, tears still falling. This morning could have been wonderful, but she had to go and ruin it. If she'd just…

If she'd just ignored the truth and gone along with something that was bad for Willow.

She couldn't do that, and as hard as it was to fight with her love, she would fight even harder if it would keep Willow safe. Magic wasn't a Swiss army knife. You didn't break it out every time it might make things easier. You had to respect it and not trifle with it. Willow needed to realize that sometimes you just had to do things the hard way, the frustrating way…the human way.

Willow would realize that, though. She would. Tara would help. When Willow came back, Tara would find a better way to make her point, one that wouldn't start another fight.

Her body still hummed with the longing Willow had awakened. If Willow didn't return to their room soon, Tara would go downstairs and find a way to lure her back to bed. She could be quiet; she could be completely silent if it meant touching her lover again.

Stabbing another bit of scrambled egg with her fork, Willow frowned. She was spoiled by Angel's eggs; her own were mediocre.

"Good morning."

The voice from behind her startled Willow so badly that she knocked her breakfast off the counter as she whirled around. "Angel! You scared me."

He knelt down to gather up the plate, fork, and bits of rubbery-looking egg, almost knocking heads with Willow, who'd had the same idea. "Chivalry isn't dead, you know," he said pointedly.

"Thanks." She stood up and let him finish.

Being this close to her, he could smell faint traces of tears. "Are you all right?" he asked, setting the remnants of Willow's breakfast on the counter. Throwing the food scraps away could wait.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied. He wasn't buying it, though, and frankly, she was brittle and ready to break. She ignored the odd feelings that always seemed to crop up where Angel was concerned, and the truth spilled forth. "Tara and I had a fight. She thinks I'm using magic too much."

They'd fought about that? First thing in the morning? "What brought that on?" Angel blurted out.

It was obvious Willow hadn't expected that question, nor did she want to answer it – that was made clear by the crimson of her cheeks. The mystery was more intriguing than ever and Angel realized he had to know. He took Willow's hand. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me." He let his tone imply that he'd figured it out on his own.

There was a reason demons used these well-worn tricks. They worked. "I…umm…we…and she was worried about the noise. I just offered to do a little cloaking spell, for privacy, you know? And she got all huffy with the 'Willow, you're using too much magic' and I left." The crimson had spread down her neck, and now Angel had his answer.

Personally, he didn't think Willow had missed much, but now he understood the tension that had made her so jumpy this morning – she was frustrated as well as angry. Angel understood both feelings all too well.

Loath as he was to admit it, though, he was glad. Tara was nowhere near good enough for Willow and if she couldn't even manage the job of bedwarmer, she'd soon be gone. That day couldn't be close enough for Angel's liking.

As for the magic… What Willow needed was to know that she had someone on whom she could depend to shore up the defenses by her side, even if they didn't have the same tools at their disposal. Last night her powers hadn't been called on even once. He knew that had irritated her, made her feel useless, but that was only because she'd always seen her only alternatives as being the big gun or the pathetic sidekick. Once she understood that she could now be part of a team of equals, the magic would take care of itself – and without any pious mealy-mouthings from Tara.

There was something frightening to him about the way he was feeling, but fear wasn't something he experienced the way humans did. It was exciting and it was a challenge and he stayed close to the source. "You're powerful. That scares people," he offered in a noncommittal tone, careful not to seem to be insulting Tara.

"She's not people, though," Willow argued. "She's Tara. She's a witch. She should understand." Angel gave her an odd look and then turned away, like there was something he wanted to say. "What?"

"It's just…" He seemed reluctant and she softened the look on her face. Not like she was mad at _Angel_. "You're a lot more powerful than she is. Everyone knows it. That has to be hard for her."

"It shouldn't be. I mean, when we met, she was the one with all the mojo and I fell in love with her. I didn't care that she was better at magic than me. I know what you said, but I really think she just doesn't trust me. That's what it seems like anyway. I mean she even got all paranoid about me going back to Boystown once, like being gay was just some kinky experiment for me. And now it's the magic. Isn't anything I do ever going to be good enough?"

Angel could hardly believe what he was hearing. "It's not you, Willow. Believe me. It's just… Not everyone loves the way you do. And because they don't, they don't believe that anyone can."

Before Angel could continue, he sensed an imminent interruption. He kept hold of Willow's hand as Tara walked into the kitchen.

The look on Tara's face when she walked into the kitchen – it was priceless.

"H-hey," Tara said, taken by surprise when she saw Angel with Willow. What was he doing up so early?

"Hi," Willow replied, her voice flat and her eyes blank. Guess she was still mad.

Talking to Angel probably hadn't done much to help smooth things over. Well, no stupid vampire was going to come between Tara and her girl. She and Willow would talk and everything would be okay. "Can we go back upstairs? I kind of have stuff to say and…" She smiled softly at Willow, letting her know this wasn't going to be a fight if she could help it.

Willow stared into Tara's eyes and was tempted. But her conversation with Angel had raised questions that she needed to think about and she was still angry. "I really don't have time right now. We're out of detergent and I need some supplies to work on the Buffybot. We'll talk later, okay?" With that, she nodded at Angel and brushed past Tara, heading for the coat tree in the foyer where her purse hung. She was out the door before anyone could stop her.

Standing impotently in the living room as her girl drove away in the Summers' car, Tara wanted nothing more than to scream at Angel, to make him tell her what he'd said to Willow, but she knew it was pointless. He would just start oozing that disingenuous calm of his and turn things around to make her seem paranoid. He'd won – again.

Tara went back upstairs. She needed to think.

Tbc…


	12. Chapter 12

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twelve)

After watching Tara beat a hasty retreat, Angel decided that he'd better call Wesley back and let him know that he hadn't disappeared off the face of the Earth. He should have known someone would call L.A. when he didn't show up. Even monks had cell phones these days, it seemed – or it could have been the pilot of the charter plane or…any one of a number of people, really. Finding solitude was never a solitary business.

He went to the phone in the kitchen and dialed. With any luck, no one would be in yet and he could just leave a message.

Naturally, he wasn't _that _lucky, but at least the one who answered wasn't Cordelia. The last thing he wanted was to have to go through explaining his change of plans twice. "Angel Investigations, we…"

"Wesley. It's me," Angel interrupted. "Giles said you were looking for me."

Clearly, the call had taken his 'boss' by surprise. "Yes, well, when we received word that you hadn't arrived in Tibet, naturally we…"

Wanting to finish the call before either Dawn or Tara interrupted him, Angel cut Wesley off. "I changed my plans." As much as Angel wanted to keep his current location to himself, he could _feel_ Wesley's suspicion through the phone and decided there was no choice but to tell the truth. "I'm in Sunnydale."

"Sunnydale? Are you sure that's wise? I…"

"I'm needed here," Angel said curtly. "With Buffy gone, there's no Slayer. What should I do? Let Buffy's sister and her friends down? I owe her – them – more than that." There was no need to mention the Buffybot or his financial support of Willow and Dawn… Or the fact that every day made his stay here less about Buffy's memory and more about feelings that would unsettle everyone at Angel Investigations, the eponymous business he no longer ran.

"I suppose you have a point," Wesley conceded "Still…"

"I have to do this." Deciding not to wait for Wesley to compose and give voice to what were sure to be tiresome objections, Angel continued, "Look, I'm not staying here forever. Just long enough to make sure that there's a system in place to protect the Hellmouth, okay?" In conclusion, he pulled out his trump card. "Buffy died for these people – for the world. The least I can do is make it so that she didn't die in vain."

Some throat-clearing and other noises ensued and then Wesley finally said, "I understand."

Angel hung up. That had gone reasonably smoothly. Of course, he couldn't be _sure_ how Wesley really felt, but the man was nowhere near as complicated as he wanted to believe, so Angel felt pretty confident in his assessment of Wesley's reaction – Angel had been taken at his word.

Some blood would be a good idea right now, he decided. Then maybe he would go through some of the books that had been left in the living room after the other night's research. No harm in seeing if there was anything in there that would help him get a jump on upcoming threats.

He wondered if Willow had actually gone where she said she was going. If so, she'd be back soon. When she returned, he'd offer to help her with that robot downstairs. With that thought in mind, he grabbed a bag of blood from the refrigerator and poured it into a mug. There were only three bags left. He'd need to go to Willie's tonight.

Tara sat on the bed, a box full of photos by her side, taking them out and looking at them one by one. So many smiles. She held a picture of Willow, just Willow, with a flower in her hand, giving a goofy grin to the camera. Tara traced the curve of Willow's lips with her finger as a tear ran down her cheek.

She was second-guessing (or really third-or-fourth-guessing) herself again. Had she done the right thing this morning? Should she have just let Willow cast the silly spell, worried about it all later? If she had, they'd probably still be in bed right now. Tara wouldn't be sitting here looking for happiness in a box full of pieces of Kodak paper. She could be looking at a real smile on the face of her real girl.

The more she thought about it, the more mixed-up she got. Was Willow using too much magic at all? Or was Tara just paranoid because Willow was so much more powerful than she was and she couldn't keep up?

She turned inward, but all her emotions made it noisy in there and she couldn't find her center. In this matter, she couldn't trust her heart to be her guide. Tara was lost – lost in the dark all alone – only this time she couldn't count on anyone to help her find her way. What was she going to do?

Dawn was bleary-eyed as she came down the stairs, but that didn't mean she didn't notice that Angel was all alone in the living room, reading one of the big, dusty, crumbling books she was way more used to than the trade paperbacks most people had on their shelves. "Where's Willow?" she asked as a weird feeling of tension crept up on her; and not the usual 'Eww, I'm alone with Angel' kind of tension, either.

"She went out to pick up some supplies to fix the Buffybot."

"With Tara?"

Angel paused before answering. "No. Tara's upstairs."

Okay, the pause gave her a bad feeling. The tension just kept creeping up her spine. "Did they fight?" she blurted out, hoping she was being silly.

Angel paused again. He sensed an opening here, a chance to at least form an alliance. "It's none of my business," he hedged cagily.

"So they did have a fight?"

Shrugging sheepishly, as if he'd accidentally said too much, he bent his head back down, seeming to feign getting back to his reading. There were times when being thought bumbling could be very useful.

She knew it. Now she was scared. Because the last time Willow and Tara had a fight… "What did they fight about?" Angel just gave her that look, the one older people always used when they didn't want to tell you stuff. Well, maybe her mom and even Buffy could put her off with that, but Angel was…Angel and it wasn't like she respected him or was afraid of him or anything. "I'm not a baby, you know. I have a right to know what's going on around here." No luck. She was reduced to pleading. "Come on. It's not like I'm gonna say anything."

Angel pretended to be thinking it over, but what he was really contemplating wasn't the 'if' but the 'how to phrase it'. He needed to make sure it all skewed in Willow's favour. "I…"

"Please," she whined, and he decided to cave.

"Tara doesn't approve of Willow using magic." That was a calculated casting of the truth, accurate enough to get away with even if Dawn did turn out to be indiscreet.

That was a… Dawn didn't know what it was or what to think. She could totally tell that Angel wasn't making it up – it was too weird. Why would Tara…? She had questions – lots of them. But even she was surprised by the one she asked first. "What do you think? About Willow's magic, I mean."

She was sort of amazed that for once he just spoke without all that brow furrowing and silence that usually came first. "I think she's incredibly powerful."

If he'd actually answered her question, it would have been a whole lot cooler. "And?" she asked, gesturing for him to continue. Why was he being all evasive? Did he agree with Tara? "Do you think that's a bad thing or something?"

It was obvious from her tone that Dawn was _not_ taking Tara's side. Good. That meant honesty would be quite comfortable. "No. Not at all. What she does…it's vital. Of course, the fact that her magic saved my soul does make me sort of partial," he admitted with a hint of self-deprecation. Just then, he realized there was something he could tell Dawn that would cement things nicely. "I'm not the only one those powers have saved either. The other night, when Spike was fighting a vampire, he dropped his stake. Willow levitated it right back into his hand. Who knows what would have happened if she hadn't done that?"

Bingo. He seemed to be on a roll with Dawn. "She saved Spike?"

Angel chuckled. "I don't know if Spike would tell it quite that way, but…yeah, she did."

As happy as she was that Willow had saved Spike with her magic, it only made Dawn more confused than ever about why Tara didn't want Willow to use it anymore. After all, Tara herself owed a lot to Willow's power. Oh how she wanted to go running upstairs right now and ask what the heck was going on with her, but she couldn't. If she blabbed, Angel would never tell her anything again.

How creepy and wrong was it, by the way, that she was starting to not think Angel was such a loser anymore? But it was true. He was treating her sort of like a grown-up and she had to admit it was cool. If they kept on getting along like this, maybe she could even get him to be nicer to Spike.

She heard a noise at the front door. Oh god! Willow must have come back. She schooled her face into her best 'No I haven't been talking to the maybe-not-as-big-of-a-jerk-as-I-thought about stuff you probably don't want me to know' expression as the door opened.

"Hey there," Willow said with a really fake smile as she walked through the front door. She was carrying a couple of bags and Angel jumped up and rushed over to help her with them. Dawn found herself thinking better of him for doing the old-fashioned guy thing. Xander never offered to help Willow carry stuff.

"Is there anything you need me to do?" Dawn asked. Even if Angel hadn't told her anything, she'd have known by the look in Willow's eyes that something bad had happened to her. While she was staring at Willow, she realized with a jolt that this was the first time she'd ever noticed that smile of Willow's was fake. She'd seen it before and always been fooled. How many times? And what about the others? Had they just let her get away with it too? Dawn wished she could just run right up and hug her and apologize and tell her it was okay to talk about what was upsetting her, but she couldn't. Would it be good enough to try and do lots better from now on?

Willow let Angel take the bags with the blood she'd noticed he needed and the jug of detergent in it while she retained custody of the electronic parts, including the special new screwdriver she needed to get into the one part of the Buffybot she hadn't been able to access before. Possibly that's where all the problems were. Or maybe she was just never going to understand Warren's programming. Oh how she hoped not, because the idea of months or even years spent listening to the 'bot gush over Spike's sexual prowess made her ill – and Xander and Spike and Giles and Dawn would blame _her _for it. They might even start hating her.

Of course, they probably should. She could still hear Buffy's voice in her ears:

_I need you, Will. You're my big gun._

She would hear those words every day for the rest of her life. She would hate herself for even longer.

"Thanks," she said as she headed towards the basement. Turning her head, she realized Dawn was tagging along and she cautioned, "I'm gonna be working on the Buffybot."

"It's okay. I'm sort of getting used to her." Was that the first time Dawn hadn't called it 'it'? Willow felt her heart break just a little more, though the why of that wasn't totally clear.

Angel stowed the blood in the refrigerator, touched by Willow's thoughtfulness, and followed the girls to the basement. He had hoped for some time alone with Willow, but he wasn't going to voice any objections to Dawn being down here. Now that he thought about it, it might even be better this way. Willow would have the opportunity to see the progress he'd made in winning over Dawn.

Setting the detergent down on top of the washing machine, he stood at a friendly distance from Dawn. They both watched intently as Willow set to work.

Willow hadn't come upstairs. Tara had been sure she'd come up to talk to her after she got home, but here Tara was, sitting alone on the bed surrounded by photographs and confusion. Had Willow even come home yet? Tara almost wished she had Angel's senses right now so she could tell without having to leave the room.

She didn't though, and she guessed that was good. She didn't want to be anything like Angel. But it did mean she was going to have to risk seeing his ugly, smirking face and go downstairs.

Putting the photos back in their box with a heavy sigh, Tara got up and walked as confidently as she could manage down the staircase and into… the empty living room. Then the empty dining room. And then the empty kitchen.

The basement door being open answered any questions before she actually thought them and she decided to head down there. Willow had to be home.

She heard the voice of the Buffybot before she could see anyone. "Angel's my boyfriend. He has great hair."

"You did it!" came a happy yell from Dawn, and Tara hurried down to see…

Willow hugging Angel.

She almost wished she'd stayed upstairs, but any thought of beating an unseen retreat vanished when Dawn spotted her. "Hey, Tara." Was it her imagination or did Dawn suddenly seem kind of subdued?

Goddess. Willow let go of Angel, feeling weird about the exuberant hug she'd just given him. She'd been so excited about finally ameliorating the 'bot's fixation on Spike that she'd gotten caught up in the glow of success. But now she felt odd and awkward and she still wasn't sure what to say to her girlfriend, though at least having Dawn here was kind of a buffer.

"Hi," she greeted Tara, warring feelings of guilt and lingering resentment tightening into a knot in her belly. There was something horrible about being angry at someone you loved.

"You're back," Tara said and it sounded like an accusation. Great. There went any hope that maybe they could pretend this morning hadn't happened.

Angel wanted to say something snide, but he knew that would offer fleeting satisfaction only and would cost him hard-won ground. He stayed silent.

"I wanted to get to work on fixing the 'bot," Willow replied and Angel was glad to see her standing her ground.

Tara, however, didn't seem willing to back down gracefully. "I sort of thought we were going to talk when you got home."

Angel watched as Willow glanced over at Dawn, unaware that he'd told the girl about Tara's little tantrum. Great, he knew Willow well enough to know that in the interest of sparing Dawn the knowledge that there was trouble in her bland mockery of paradise, she'd probably cave in and go off for a private chat with Tara.

He was right. "I…umm… We can go talk right now. I just needed to try an idea I had before I forgot what it was."

Tara's expression softened into something she probably thought was sweet and soothing. Angel felt his gorge rise.

There was nothing he could do, however. Willow turned to him and Dawn. "Thanks for the help, you guys." And then she headed out of the basement on the heels of her mousy ball and chain.

Dawn stood still; she could feel the tension again, wrapping itself around her throat.

"It'll be okay." Angel's voice should have startled her, but it didn't. It was…nice. Again. She was starting to think maybe Buffy hadn't been so completely wrong about him. Here he was paying the bills, he'd given her every single thing Buffy had ever owned without complaining, and he was being really supportive of Willow. Also, he got that what went on in this house was Dawn's business too. It was hard to hate him or even dislike him a whole lot anymore. If he made peace with Spike, she'd probably be forced to actually like him.

She wondered if maybe she already did. Buffy would be really glad if she knew.

"I was doing some research earlier. Looking to see if there are any clues to what we might be in store for as far as bad guys go. Care to help me?" Angel stepped back and gestured toward the staircase.

"Sure. Sounds good." It did too. So she headed up the stairs and Angel followed. She was going to research with Angel. Willingly.

Now that she and Tara were alone, Willow had no idea what to say to her. She waited, hoping that Tara would think of something first.

She did. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to fight with you. And I don't want you to think I don't trust you. I just… I worry, okay? I don't want you to get hurt. Magic is serious –and dangerous. It's not something you should play around with."

Reaching out, Willow took Tara's hand. "I know that. But I know what I'm doing." She spoke confidently, but kindly. She didn't want to fight again. All she wanted was for Tara to look into her eyes and see the truth; see how much Willow loved her. If Tara loved her the same way, she'd trust her, wouldn't she?

Tara wanted so hard to hold onto the doubts in her own instincts she'd had a little while ago, but being near Willow took her right back to her fears of the path Willow was following. Now wasn't the time to talk about it though. She needed to find better words – wiser, more loving words. That could wait. All she really wanted at this moment was to make things right with Willow so they could be as close as they had been before Glory, before Buffy's death. So she didn't respond to Willow's confident assertion. Instead, she said, "I love you."

She sat down on the bed and offered what she hoped was a seductive smile. "You know, we don't have anywhere we have to be."

This morning, all of Willow's hopes and needs had been wrapped up in wanting to make love to Tara. Right now, though, it felt wrong somehow. It felt like putting a tiny band-aid on a large, open wound. Tara had apologized…but Willow saw it for what it was – an apology for the _way_ she'd said what she had. Tara still didn't trust in her magic. Tara still didn't trust _her_.

"I better get back to work on the Buffybot," she offered in an apologetic tone. "If I don't get her to at least cut down on the disturbing Spike talk, Xander's liable to electrocute her or something." She leaned down and kissed Tara gently. "Rain check?"

"Sure." There might have been the faint shine of tears in Tara's eyes. Willow tried not to think about that as she headed back downstairs.

Tbc…


	13. Chapter 13

To One in Paradise (Chapter Thirteen)

"I'm just gonna head back down and do some more work on the 'bot. You guys just…keep doing what you're doing," Willow said distractedly as she made her excuses to Dawn and Angel before heading to the basement. She wanted to be alone. Silence and the chance to organize her thoughts were what she wanted more than anything right now.

Tara didn't trust her. After everything they'd been through together, everything they'd shared, Tara didn't trust her. It hurt and the last thing Willow's heart could take right now was more pain. Losing Buffy was bad enough. Was this punishment for her failure? Was this the universe exacting revenge on her for the loss of the greatest Slayer who'd ever lived?

She tromped heavily down the stairs. There stood the Buffybot, glassy-eyed and motionless, a plastic mockery of a girl who'd once glowed with more life and warmth than anyone else in the whole world. There wasn't a safe harbor anywhere, was there? Willow sighed and headed over to where she'd set her tools. Back to work.

Her eyes full of tears again, Tara wondered what to do. She felt like she was losing her girl. What had Angel said to her in the kitchen? Did he have something to do with Willow's distance just now? And was he encouraging her to keep using magic for everything?

If only she knew more about him so she'd know how to deal with him, how to make Willow see the truth in a way that he couldn't overcome. It wasn't like she could ask Willow, and Xander… Xander might tell Willow that Tara was asking about Angel behind her back. He was her best friend; it was kind of to be expected.

There had to be someone Tara could ask, though, someone who knew Angel and understood Willow and could help her figure out what was going on and what to do about it. She kept thinking and it came to her – there _was_ someone, someone who had known both Willow and Angel for years. This was a someone, moreover, who Willow looked up to and who Tara was sure could help Willow see that she was not only trusting the wrong people, but that she was going about things wrong with her magic.

Tara went into the bathroom, washed the tearstains from her face, and fixed her makeup. She was going to go and see Giles.

Angel watched Dawn out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to have gone back to reading. Would this be an opportune time to follow Willow downstairs? The last thing he wanted was to antagonize the girl and have her go running upstairs to Tara, but he was wildly curious to know why Willow's tête-à-tête with her girlfriend had ended so quickly.

Judging by the look on Dawn's face, however, he had little to fear. She seemed concerned about Willow. "I should probably go see if she's okay," Angel said softly.

As much as he'd anticipated a positive response, he was unprepared for her enthusiasm. "You totally should," she said eagerly. It seemed he wasn't the only curious one.

Further conversation, however, would have to wait. He heard footsteps on the stairs.

Tara forced a smile as she stopped in the foyer, seeing Angel and Dawn seated in the living room surrounded by books. "I'm gonna go run some errands, Dawnie, okay? I'll be back in a little while." She didn't ask her to tell Willow, not with Angel there. For a moment, she thought about delaying her visit to Giles. Dawn hated Angel and leaving her alone with him seemed sort of mean. But no, this was something she had to do.

"Okay," Dawn replied, not buying Tara's smile any more than she'd bought Willow's earlier. She cared a lot less though. If it came down to choosing sides, Dawn had already bought the Team Willow t-shirt. Willow was the one, after all, who was keeping everyone safe, who was taking care of _her_…and who'd made sure that Buffy had a grave. Dawn had gone there a couple of times by herself in the last few days. Willow had picked a really beautiful place. Buffy would have liked just sitting there, pretending to study or something, on a sunny day.

She watched the door close behind Tara and waited until she thought Tara had cleared the driveway. Not like she was going to open the curtains or anything to be sure. As weird as it was to feel this way, she didn't want to singe Angel. "I think she's gone," she said in a lower-than-normal tone.

Angel gave Dawn a soft half-smile. It was heartening that she hadn't flung open the drapes to follow Tara's progress. That was a solicitude Buffy hadn't always shared. He well remembered the burns he'd suffered on the many occasions she'd 'forgotten.'

Should he be recalling that so easily and with the hint of lingering malice that clung to each recollected instance? Shouldn't there be some sort of fondness there? Some rosy softening of the edges? There wasn't though. And he was still waiting for the rush of anguish and grief – the grief he'd felt the ghost of when Willow had said those words in the lobby of the Hyperion, the grief he'd felt for the loss of his love,…but not for Buffy, no, not for the girl. All the tears he'd given her had been regret at having not let her go. And that wasn't right, was it?

He shook off the guilt which threatened to take hold. "I'll go downstairs and see how Willow is doing."

Dawn nodded and added, "I know you can't tell her that I know about the fight or anything but if you could find a way to let her know that I'm… that I'm on her side and stuff, could you do that?"

"Sure."

She seemed to have more to say, so Angel waited. He was right. "Thanks." It was one word, but it meant a great deal and Angel was mindful of its value. He smiled at her again and left the room. The fact that it now seemed that he and Dawn were on friendly footing – that went a long way towards ameliorating the guilt he'd just had to hold back by main force. Dawn could use a strong male presence in her life. While he couldn't exactly be her father, he could at least be a somewhat paternalistic figure, the way Willow had become a semi-maternal figure.

If he was supposed to be disturbed that he was effortlessly creating a sort of family with himself and Willow as the heads of it, he could no more find that feeling than he could that absent grief. He needed to give up and live in what was real. He stood at the top of the stairs. Time to find out if there truly was trouble in Willow's ersatz paradise.

Work had been hard today – mostly because it _hadn't_ been hard, if that made sense. It would make sense to Willow, Xander figured, but he'd never been one for the deep thoughts. Still, today would have been better if they hadn't had to stand around waiting for updated information about whether there was or wasn't a water main under the new work site – information they never actually got. Anya would tell him that he got paid anyway, so it was probably even better this way, and before Buffy… before Buffy died, she would have been right. Today, though? Today he would have like it a whole lot more if he could have gotten lost in hard labour and not stood around with nothing to do until he was finally sent home early. His brain, normally happy to stay out of his way, had decided to fill up the time with things like wondering if Buffy would still be here if he was a better fighter – if he was more than just the doughnut guy, the comic relief macho man/construction worker – minus the whole 'Village People' thing – who'd had almost as many concussions as Giles…the Zeppo. What he'd done with the wrecking ball...it hadn't been enough, had it?

He wondered about other things too. Was he doing the right thing, leaving Willow in charge of Dawn and research and keeping everything together? Should he spend more time over there, see if there was more he could do to help? Because he was starting to think there was something very wrong with letting Angel be the man of the house; not like Deadboy was probably much use when it came to housework or anything (although picturing him with a feather duster and a lacy apron almost made Xander laugh).

Later, once he and Anya were alone, Xander would talk it over with her. Because that's what married people were supposed to do, right? Discuss things and make decisions together. Not that he had any actual, firsthand experience of that, mind you – his own family was more about drunken yelling and furniture destruction – but he had it on very good authority (mostly the magazines he ended up reading because his friends were all girls) that most married couples did the communicating and sharing thing.

What would Anya say? Xander decided to take a shower; then he'd head over to the Magic Box.

There was something about her when she was intent on her work. Angel remembered watching Willow with a younger version of this same intense expression years ago in the high school library – and once in her bedroom. It hadn't attracted him then – at least he didn't think it had – but it did now. Now, the play of intelligence and focus had him enthralled. Had he grown up at last? No longer a slave to scanty clothing and ample tits?

What had happened to him that night with Darla?

"Hey," he said softly, hoping not to frighten her with his sudden appearance.

"Angel!" Willow cried as she whirled around, dropping the computer chip she'd been holding. He really needed to stop being 'sneaky vampire guy'… Though come to think of it, it would be kind of impossible, wouldn't it? He was, after all, a vampire.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I just wanted to see if you were okay."

Willow was starting to hate herself more than ever. Here was Angel being understanding and caring and she was creeped – again. One of these days she was going to get her emotions straightened out. Grief was screwing her up. "Thanks." That was the proper response. She'd sounded sincere, too…right?

"How did things go with…?"

Willow cut him off. "I don't want..." Her voice trailed off. She wasn't sure what she wanted or didn't want.

"That's okay." He stepped closer, hitting the borders of her personal space. "I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything." What he said next… "It doesn't make you less strong, you know, confiding in someone."

Her warning bells were going off like a calliope, but at the same time – she was tempted. Being able to just open up and talk… That was something she could use. As for the warning bells… Yeah, those seemed more like her wonky 'Angel-feelings'. She went with the need to unburden herself. "She doesn't trust me. She doesn't trust me at all. She thinks magic's too dangerous for me and that I don't know what I'm doing."

Angel kept his face impassive. "Is that what she said?"

"Sort of. I mean, she said the part about magic being dangerous. And she _sort of_ said she trusted me, but what she really said was that she didn't want me to think she didn't trust me, which doesn't actually mean that she trusts me, does it? Then when I said I knew what I was doing she didn't agree with me or anything. She just," Willow's face reddened and Angel got the point, but he let her continue, "She just tried to pick up where we left off this morning."

If Tara had sat down and given serious thought as to how to destroy her relationship with Willow, Angel was hard-pressed to think how she could have come up with a way to do it any better than she was doing right now.

How to respond, though. For a moment, he considered playing devil's advocate, but…no. Willow was a bright woman. She would likely see him as insincere, which would be truth itself. Instead, he said, "You know her. If you say she doesn't trust you, I guess I have to believe that. But I don't understand it. Everything I've seen you do…" He let the words trail off. She knew what he meant, he was sure.

There were those warning bells again, coupled with a siren's song sung by the promise of support and no-strings trust Angel was offering. She listened to the song. After all, she had a right to that support and that faith. She _had _done lots of good with her magic, not just for Angel, either. Of course, she hadn't been able to save the person she most wanted to…

But all that meant was that she should try harder, get better, learn more, so there'd never be another time when anyone would be forced to give their life to save the world. Angel got that, she could tell, or he _would _if she decided to explain that to him. He'd be on her side. Because he already saw how important her abilities were…didn't he? "You…you don't think I'm…you know…going overboard, do you?"

Tara stood nervously in Giles's living room, running through her meager supply of small talk as she tried to figure out the best way to broach the subject at hand. Nothing elegant came to mind so she decided to just get to the point. "I-I'm worried about Willow."

Giles had feared something like this had brought Tara to his door. Her visit was nearly inexplicable for any other reason. Despite the fact that they'd known each other for some time, their relationship began and ended with her connection to Willow. He supposed he'd feel guilty for that later, right now he was more concerned about what had Tara so upset that she'd come to him for assistance. Just as he was about to put forward a question, she said, "I think she's using too much magic."

That was more of a surprise than he supposed it should be, given that he'd had these very thoughts himself so recently; but he'd reasoned himself through them, realized that he wasn't giving Willow credit for the sense and wisdom that she'd been displaying in concert with her magical abilities. He decided to say as much. "Are you quite sure you're not being unduly overcautious? I know that her abilities have been called on more often of late. Perhaps…"

"I know. And I think that's part of the problem." She fixed an accusing eye on Giles. She guessed she should have expected him to be a bit skeptical, but it irritated her anyway. "Everyone's been happy to let her take care of things. But she's using magic all the time now, and not just for saving-the-world type stuff, either. She's using it for little things, things that she shouldn't be."

The pink spreading over Tara's cheeks took Giles's thoughts in a highly uncomfortable direction and he mentally shook himself free of the incipient images. "She has…?"

"She was going to do a spell on our room this morning, to make it soundproof." Tara hated to reveal anything so intimate, but Giles needed to see and she had to give him the facts so that he would. "And I know that doesn't seem like a big deal, but it was the first thing she thought of and she was so casual about it, like doing a spell was just some everyday thing. I get that it's easy for her. I do. But magic…" She took a deep breath. She was not going to stutter. She was strong and Giles would have to listen to her. "And it's not just that. I think Angel is encouraging her, pushing her." Judging by the look on Giles's face, she'd said the right thing.

Angel. He'd meant to go and have a talk with that vampire today and Tara's evocation of his involvement in her fears for Willow gave Giles pause. That creature had become rather quickly enmeshed in all their lives these past days, but in no one's life more than Willow's. She'd stood firmly on his side, trusting him and all but demanding that the rest of them follow suit. Had he repaid her by pandering to her need to feel in control? To grow and experiment – perhaps beyond the borders within which she would stay safe? Giles didn't want to think so; he was more inclined towards faith in her strength and insight than Tara was. Still, caution was never a bad idea, especially not when it came to the perils of magic. "She's made mistakes in the past, but she's always been quick to learn from them and I am quite sure she remembers those lessons well. I am certain that I can get through to her, if she is indeed in danger of heading down the wrong path. Yes, I shall have a talk with her. Would that ease your mind?"

He was taking her seriously. Giles was going to talk to Willow. For the first time since this morning, Tara felt like she could breathe. "Thank you," she said. "So, you'll, umm…"

"I shall." He confirmed as he smiled at her. "Now. Perhaps I ought to drive you home."

"Of course I don't think you're going overboard. How could you even ask me that?"

"I just… I'm sorry," Willow said. "I guess I'm sort of insecure. It's not like I expected Tara to have any doubts either, but she…"

"I'm not Tara," Angel responded, more tersely than he'd intended. The expression on her face made him backpedal. "I apologize. I just hate seeing the way she's got you tied up in knots. After everything you've done, everything you're going through… If she really cared about you, really loved you, I just think she'd be more supportive, that's all."

Angel's words hit at the very core of Willow's fears – that maybe things really _weren't_ so perfect between her and Tara. It made her want to slap him. Instead, she shot back, "Tara and I are just fine, okay? We had a misunderstanding, yeah, but we love each other and stuff like this happens, you know? Oh wait. You wouldn't know, because the only time you ever loved somebody, you ran away when things got tough." Oh god. Maybe she should have slapped him. His face was blank, but she could tell she'd cut him deeply. "Angel. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I…"

Much to her shock, he reached out and took her hand.

Her words had hurt him, though probably not for the reasons she thought they had, but they gave him an opening. She was vulnerable now and it called to that part of him that had no regard for human rules about grief and loss and timing, about good and bad and moral and immoral. "You're right, you know. But that doesn't mean I don't know about love or about how you deserve to be treated. And Tara – she doesn't have any idea what she has, how special you are."

Leaning in, he was about to kiss her when he heard Dawn's voice from the top of the stairs. "You guys? Giles is here."

"Be right up, Dawnie," Willow called out, not sure what the hell had just happened, if anything. Because it was probably nothing at all, right? Angel had, at the very most, been about to hug her or maybe kiss her cheek. He had _not_ – absolutely and emphatically not – been about to _kiss _kiss her, like guy-girl kissage, and any fleeting thought she had that he might have been about to do anything like that was just those wonky 'Angel-feelings' again and so did not have anything to do with reality. He was grieving over Buffy and she'd just insulted his relationship with her, not exactly the way to a man's heart. And hey! She was gay now and Angel totally knew that. Which was less important than the fact that he'd just lost the love of his life, but still – a fact, and a meaningful one. "We should probably go upstairs. See if any big evil's a-brewing."

Without waiting for an answer, she bounded up the stairs. Angel followed her.

Tbc…


	14. Chapter 14

To One in Paradise (Chapter Fourteen)

"We… that is,Tara and I, we're just concerned that in your zeal to… That you've become somewhat overly dependent on magic, that's all. It's not a criticism. It's simply concern. We care about you and want you to be…well…_safe_. Tara feels – and I think she might have a good point – that perhaps you should consider… taking some time off, so to speak."

Willow stood stock still in the kitchen. Giles's lips were still moving but she stopped hearing what he was saying.

Tara had gone behind her back. She had gone to Giles…to _Giles_…convinced him that she couldn't handle magic, that she needed to be protected from _herself_. One more loss – the respect of the man whose good opinion was one of the things that mattered most to her in the world.

She'd told Tara how hard it had been to prove herself to Giles after the fiasco of that 'Will Be Done' spell, had trusted her girl with all the pain she'd felt about the struggle and how much it meant to her when she had finally earned his approval, and what did Tara do?

She took it all away.

"Willow?" Giles was concerned. The look on Willow's face – she seemed perilously close to collapse. "Are you all right?"

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna make you blind, if that's what you're afraid of." She spat the words and Giles could almost feel them against his face. He was back in that dorm room, missing the point.

Dear God but he had blundered, blundered badly, and with the girl who was almost as much his daughter as Buffy. How could he make this right? "I didn't think you would. I… I seem to have expressed myself rather badly, haven't I?" A chuckle that did nothing to lighten the mood accompanied his words. Willow's eyes were wounds as he met them.

"Nope. You expressed yourself just fine. You and Tara think I'm some stupid kid playing with matches and that I need to leave the adult-type stuff to the grown-ups. I get it. I do." There was more she wanted to say – maybe that he'd know a lot about overusing things, considering how often she smelt liquor on his breath these days – but she knew she shouldn't say it. 'Sticks and stones', the saying went. Witches, even witches no one trusted, knew better. Words had power and once you said them… Taking them back never undid all the damage. "I'm going for a walk." She allowed herself one small, bitter parting shot. "Tell Tara I promise not to teleport." With that, she was out the back door. As she slammed it behind her, she was almost sorry when she couldn't hear the sound of breaking glass. She didn't turn back. She just kept walking. Now if she only had some idea where she was going.

"Wait," Giles said uselessly to the door, which was still shaking from the force of Willow's emotion. For a moment, he thought of pursuing her, but what was the use? He'd already damaged their relationship enough for one day. It was daylight; she'd be in no danger. Perhaps a walk would help her see that he had meant well, even see that what he'd said had merit and deserved consideration.

But should he have said anything? He himself hadn't observed the excesses of which Tara had spoken. Had he let his own past influence him to undue suspicion? And what role had his distrust of Angel and his motives played? These were all topics to be pondered as he grew increasingly regretful of having confronted Willow at all. Grief – it was turning him into someone for whom he was rapidly losing respect.

Speaking of disrespect and vampires…

"I thought Willow was in here with you." Angel's voice made him turn around. It was an accusing voice and it raised Giles's hackles no small amount.

"We were having a private conversation," Giles replied.

Angel sounded utterly insincere – though perhaps, Giles admitted, his own prejudices coloured his perception – as he replied, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a translation Dawn and I aren't sure of and since Willow reads medieval German better than the both of us… Where is she, by the way?"

"She decided to get some air. We're having rather pleasant weather and…"

"You fought." Angel stared daggers at Giles. How dare he! Whatever the conflict had been about, he could guarantee that Giles was in the wrong. Any respect he'd had for Giles had withered and died as he watched the man wallow in his own grief. Giles had done nothing since Buffy's death except drink and stammer and defer to Willow every time a decision had to be made.

"Yes," Giles admitted. It was meager, but it wasn't like Angel had expected anything more. There was no point in asking what it was about; Giles would never tell him. Besides, considering the fact that Giles had arrived with Tara, it wasn't hard to deduce that the argument had something to do with Tara's ridiculous attempts to control Willow's use of magic. Guess she'd enlisted Giles in her endeavour.

He said nothing further, turning on his heel and going back to the living room. He couldn't, after all, follow Willow. All he could do was fume in this prison whose bars were sunlight. Without a word to Dawn (or Tara) he went up the stairs and back to his room. Thinking – that was something the brightest sun could not prevent. Time might pass before he could speak to Willow, but he had a hunch he could twist this latest turn of events to good advantage. Now she would see the necessity of deadheading her little band, shedding the members who had nothing to contribute – who in fact were more hindrance than they'd ever been help. With Tara and Giles out of the way, Xander and Anya could babysit Dawn, he and Willow and Spike could patrol and keep evil at bay… It would be a better life. Willow would see that.

Of course, there was the matter of Willow's relationship with Tara. But she'd realize that that too was something she was better off without. She deserved better – much better. What she needed was someone who didn't fear her strength, but who matched it, someone she could lean on when things got overwhelming, someone…

Someone like Angel.

He admitted it. Maybe it was ridiculously soon after Buffy's death, but he wanted Willow – more than wanted, though he wasn't ready to put a name to what that more might be. For all that she called herself gay, he had clear enough memories of her relationship with Oz and her dalliance with Xander to assure himself that his cause wasn't hopeless. And since his night with Darla had proven that physical pleasure was no longer completely off-limits, if he was careful, he could certainly satisfy Willow…and himself.

She could be happy with him: Taking care of Dawn and protecting the Hellmouth together. They could be… They could be a family, a truer one than he'd ever known, even with Darla. Now the question was if he could make her see that.

Oh, but there was one more question: Did he ever intend to return to Los Angeles?

When Xander walked through the door of the Magic Box, he was greeted by the sight of his fiancée bent over, dusting a low shelf. He was damn glad he was the only one in the store because that was not a sight he wanted to share… It was a good one, though, and one that made him wish that he could lock the door, flip the sign to "Closed' and then… Okay, better not think about that right now. His pants were feeling pretty uncomfortable.

He didn't say anything, because he'd learned the hard way that startling Anya was a bad idea, but when she turned around, he discovered that his strategy hadn't worked. "Xander!" she shrieked, at a pitch that nearly shattered his eardrums. There was really no good way to surprise her, was there?

With a sheepish wave, he explained. "They weren't sure if there was a water main there or not, so we got sent home early."

"Oh." While it was too bad Xander wouldn't get quite as much money for today, Anya had to admit it was nice to see him. Not that she would ever tell him, but she missed him while he was at work. If there was a heaven, she hoped it involved spending every minute with Xander. Preferably naked. "Unfortunately, I still have to work because Giles isn't here. I would close the store so we could…," she made a helpful hand gesture because she'd promised Giles she would try not to talk about sex at the store and even if he wasn't here a promise was still a promise, "but if we don't stay open there won't be any customers, and unfortunately, you have to have customers to make money." Someday she would figure out a way to make money and have sex with Xander whenever she wanted at the same time.

Xander smiled and pulled Anya into his arms. "I guess I can make the sacrifice," he said. He sighed. Now was the time, he decided, to talk to Anya. "I kind of had something I wanted to ask you about."

"Is it about that club I was telling you about? Because we can just watch you know. The rules don't say that we _have _to…"

Xander reddened, even though they were alone. "No," he interrupted. "It's not about the club. It's about Willow, actually."

Willow? What did Willow have to do with sex? Xander wasn't thinking about…? But that was silly. Willow was gay. Oh, and he hadn't actually said this was about sex, had he? "What about Willow?" she asked.

"I was just thinking that… You know, maybe I should be helping out more or something. I mean, she's pretty much doing it all on her own and…"

Anya snorted. "Don't be silly. She has Angel. And okay, I get that you don't like him, but he has lots of money, which is good, and anyway, there's also Tara and Spike and Giles and we babysit and research. Willow has plenty of help." All right, that was probably an exaggeration – in fact, she knew it was – but Xander worked hard and so did she. If anyone was going to take on more responsibility for Dawn and the house and all, it should be Giles or Tara, not Xander.

A part of Xander could see in Anya's eyes that she was making excuses, but another part asked what he honestly thought he could do that he wasn't doing anyway? Not like he was 'Magic Guy' or 'Independently Wealthy Guy' or 'Robot Repair Guy'. He was doing the best he could already, wasn't he?

Yeah, you just telling yourself that, Xander.

It would help if he had a distraction, something to shut off that annoying voice in his brain that was calling him selfish and telling him that Willow deserved a better friend; the voice that sounded a lot like Buffy. Luckily, Anya had mentioned something a minute ago that would make thinking stop, at least for now. "Are you sure we can't close up shop for a little while? I mean the place is empty and you know what they say about idle hands. Do you really think we should risk having a devil's workshop on a Hellmouth?"

Willow hadn't had a clear destination in mind when she'd stormed out of the house, but she supposed she'd thought she'd end up at The Magic Box. Instead, here she was, standing at the door to Spike's crypt. She kept right on standing as minutes ticked by, unsure of whether she should knock or just leave without revealing that she had even been there.

That last option turned out to not be an option at all. "You gonna stand out there all day, Red?"

Spike sounded less irritated than she was used to, but she was still nervous as she entered, closing the door behind her quickly to keep out the sunlight. "Sorry," she said, "I kinda didn't actually intend to come here and…" She shrugged. It wasn't exactly the most lucid way to finish a sentence, but she had no idea what she'd meant to say anyway. She'd gotten off her train of thought long before the right station.

Had to admit, this visit was a bit of a shock, but not as unpleasant as most shocks lately. Besides, he'd run out of booze and needed _something _to distract him from sobbing over Buffy. "Can't say you're in the habit of calling on me at that," he agreed. "But now that you're inside, you might as well sit down and be sociable."

He watched her closely as she headed for his rather dilapidated sofa. There was something about the hang of her shoulders that said the little witch had been crying recently and the salt scent that clung to her skin confirmed it. He wondered what it was about. Buffy? She wouldn't be alone in that.

But if he was expecting the babble of old to burst forth containing any answers, he was sorely mistaken. She was disturbingly quiet. "You know, being sociable usually involves conversation," he prompted with an approximation of his old smirk.

Willow started at Spike's rebuke. "I'm sorry. Like I said, I sort of ended up here without meaning to and… I kinda think maybe I should go." She started to get up and was surprised when Spike blocked her.

"Now, now. You look like a girl in need of someone to talk to. Might as well be me."

She stared at his face suspiciously as it almost glowed in the dim light. For all that things had changed, and swiftly, in the aftermath of Buffy's death… Out of nowhere, the memory of him crying on her shoulder – literally – about Drusilla emerged. Maybe that trust he'd placed in her could be reciprocated. That and his love for Buffy should make him safe to confide in. He was right, after all; she needed to talk. "I… I had a fight with Giles," she started haltingly.

He didn't respond, not even with a change of expression. Somehow that put her at ease and she continued. "And sort of with Tara, too."

Spike had wanted to stay impassive but that last bit was too much of a stunner. He would never have thought that she and Glinda would be fighting. "What about?" he asked, trying at least not to look as gobsmacked as he felt.

"Magic," she replied and his astonishment was complete. She'd come a long way from the bad old days when she'd bollixed up as many spells as she got right. She was a force to be reckoned with now and her magic was a useful, even essential thing.

"What are they on about?"

The tone of Spike's voice – it made Willow feel safe in her choice to talk to him. "They think I'm using it too much."

A loud 'hah' almost made her fall off the couch.

"That's rich. I'd like to know where they think we'd be without your hocus pocus. Hell, didn't your high and mighty Tara almost get herself killed the other night on patrol? Without your bloody shield spell, she'd be stuttering inside some demon's large intestine right now. As for the Watcher…" Spike sat down beside her. "Look. I'm not saying you should do the abracadabra thing every time a jar needs opening, but from where I'm sitting, you're not doing any harm."

He had more questions now, but the one he wanted most to ask couldn't be dragged out of him by all the demons in Hell. Instead he stopped talking.

Willow's voice soon broke the silence. "She doesn't trust me, Spike. After everything we've been through, she doesn't trust me. Do you know what that's like? I love her so much. She's…she's my everything. And not only doesn't she trust me, but she goes to Giles – _Giles_– after everything she knows about… She went to him behind my back."

It was astonishing, she thought, as she unburdened herself, that she was telling him all this, but she couldn't stop. "How can I…" She shut her mouth abruptly, not wanting to say what she had almost said.

Spike finished the sentence for her. "How can you stay with her?" He halted for a moment, a vision of the way his sire had been staring at Willow of late filling his mind. The hatred he felt for that bastard… It made him want to tell Willow to hold onto Tara with both hands, to forgive the pasty little mouse for everything.

But, damn him, he couldn't. For all that it might offer a beggar's hope to the most cold-blooded wretch in creation… No, Willow deserved better than Tara, better than someone who treated her so ungratefully. She was caring for Dawn; she'd saved his hide the other night with that stake trick… She'd done her best for Buffy, and she'd kept the grave that perfect girl now filled safe from the scores of demons who'd dearly love to dance on it. Spike owed her for that. They were… Hell, they were friends, weren't they? And anyway, Willow had stopped driving stick back when she'd gotten rid of her flea collar; no reason to think Angel would suffer any less even without Glinda hanging about – especially not with that buzzkill of a curse still hanging over his…head.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to flat out tell her to kick her girlfriend out on her arse. "You'll have to decide that on your own, pet. Love – it's different for us all. You have to see if you can live with what she's done. If everything else makes up for what's gone."

The sound of the word 'gone' was a curious thing, and Willow stared at Spike for a few long seconds. She wondered… Trust, what did it mean? What did it weigh on the scales?

In the end, for all that Spike had once been their mortal enemy, Buffy had trusted him.

So did Willow.

And yet, no matter how much she loved Tara, Tara didn't trust her…and after today, Willow didn't trust Tara either.

But would that last? Couldn't it be fixed? With time and love, couldn't it all be the way it was again? She remembered the night she'd blown out that candle and given herself to Tara alone – really and truly.

The warmth of the fire, though – the way that tiny puff of smoke had filled her whole body with heat – she couldn't feel it anymore.

Was that her answer? Or was it just her anger and hurt?

She looked around the crypt; there were empty bottles everywhere. "You miss her a lot, don't you?"

Spike chuckled ruefully. It was like her to change… Then again, the subject was really the same, wasn't it? "Yeah." He chanced a further truth. "Like you."

It meant more than he'd ever admit when she nodded in agreement, granting his grief the same stature as her own. "I know I'm screwing up, but I'm trying, you know? I'm trying really hard to take care of Dawn the way she'd want and fill in for her the best I can."

"You're doing a fine job of it. You are." He reached over and took her hand. "She'd be grateful if she… She _is_ grateful. I'm sure that somehow she knows."

He felt it again when her eyes got that sincere look and she said, "She feels the same way about you. I mean, wherever she is, I know she appreciates the way you've been there for Dawn." She meant it, he knew. He wished he could believe her. But when a woman loved Angel, he knew all too well that nothing you did was ever good enough for them.

Angel…whose dark eyes were so full of desire whenever he gazed at Willow. Spike wondered what Buffy was thinking if she could see that.

"Maybe she does," he equivocated. For a moment he thought of telling Willow what he knew about Angel, but he thought better of it. Tara was likely on her way out the door, maybe Giles, too. Now, more than even before, she'd need Angel's wallet. No point in making her uncomfortable. If she hadn't noticed his cow eyes by now, they wouldn't do her any harm in the near future. No, the only one hurting was Spike, and he could live with it, he supposed. Just one more scar he wore proudly for his Slayer.

"Sun's going down," he offered, feeling it under his skin the way all vampires did. "Why don't I walk you home?"

Tbc…


	15. Chapter 15

To One in Paradise (Chapter Fifteen)

It was dusk and Willow was still gone.

Giles stared into space. Dawn had just left the room – he supposed he couldn't blame her for being weary of the tension and silence, especially as she had no idea of the reason – and he allowed himself the luxury of wallowing in his misery for a moment.

"I messed up, didn't I?" Tara's voice was soft and choked.

Giles resisted the temptation to lay all the blame at her feet. "_We_… messed up, I'm afraid," he replied. "However, I'm sure Willow knows how deeply we both care for her. She'll understand that we were motivated by love and concern, however much we may have blundered in conveying it." He paused for a moment. He was right, after all. Willow was a warm-hearted and compassionate girl who never gave up on those close to her and whose capacity for forgiveness was astonishing. "She'll understand."

The sun had just set and Angel was debating whether to wait at the house for Willow's return or go out looking for her when there was a knock at his door. Dawn didn't wait for him to answer before bursting in.

"All right, I know Willow had a big fight with Giles. Are you going to tell me what it was about or what?"

Standing there, arms akimbo, Angel was struck – not by how much she was like Buffy, but by how very _different_ she was. Later he'd think of just why he saw her that way, but for now, he had a determined teenage girl on his hands.

For a moment, he thought of hedging, but he had faith in the bond he and Dawn had – however hastily – forged. He could be honest right off the bat now. "I'm not sure. Giles doesn't exactly confide in me. But I'm pretty sure Tara put him up to confronting Willow about her magic."

Dawn pursed her lips together tightly and she could feel her face turn red with anger. She would have shrieked except that Tara and Giles were right downstairs and the last thing she wanted was for them to realize that she hadn't just gone up to her room. Maybe she was being sneaky, but it wasn't like they deserved her being honest or anything and no way did she want to let them know she talked to Angel now. Because hey! They were so keeping secrets too… _and_ they were being mean to Willow. As much as Dawn loved both Giles and Tara, she had to admit (at least to herself) that she loved Willow more. Willow was her sister, almost as much as Buffy. Because along with her fake memories, Dawn had real ones – like every day since Buffy had died. Why couldn't Giles and Tara see things the way she did?

"I can't believe they think it's wrong for Willow to use magic," Dawn said at last, keeping her voice low even though she still wanted to yell.

"What did they say?" Angel asked.

Dawn huffed before answering. "Nothing. Once they both pretended to need something from the kitchen, but I couldn't eavesdrop or anything. The rest of the time we were just translating stupid prophecies."

"Your Latin's pretty good," Angel said, and he meant it. He had been a bit surprised by that, though he supposed he shouldn't have been. It made sense that she'd try to develop some skills to make herself a viable part of her sister's team.

"Thanks." Again one word meant a great deal, especially since there was no sarcastic inflection. "Do you think Willow will be back soon?" she asked.

Just then, Angel heard a noise from downstairs. "She's home now," he answered.

"We better not go down together or they'll know we were talking," Dawn said. She possessed a certain degree of craft, he realized, and he respected her for it. She wasn't devious enough to fool _him_, but she had more than the requisite skill to bamboozle Tara Maclay and Rupert Giles.

"Good idea, kiddo," he said with a smile.

"Yeah, well, I'm an ancient Key. I'm supposed to have smart ideas." Oh God. Angel was staring at her like she'd grown an extra head. Hadn't anyone… "Guess Buffy didn't fill you in when you were in town, huh? And Willow…she probably thought you already knew." She took a deep breath, preparing to sacrifice something she hadn't even known she had – someone here in this house who thought she had always been Dawn Summers. "I've kind of only existed for less than a year. I'm what Glory was looking for, the Key that would open the portal to her dimension, so these monks took part of Buffy and they gave everybody fake memories and they turned me into Buffy's sister so she'd protect me and…" She started crying. "I'm not real. Not really. I'm just this thing and nothing you remember about me really happened."

For a few moments, Angel felt lost as he tried to process what she was telling him. Dawn was some sort of chimera. One more secret Buffy had kept from him. Strange that this fact made him far angrier than the notion that an outside force had planted memories in his head, but there it was. Right now Dawn seemed infinitely more real to him than the Buffy he'd loved so deeply that it had cost him his soul. Which one, he thought, was truly an illusion?

Willow, however - Willow would have told him had she known Buffy had kept him in the dark; that was at least a truth in which he could believe.

Right now, though, it was best to keep the turmoil in his head to himself, the colder and more logical part of his brain seeing the big picture. He turned a kindly expression on Dawn and said, "You're real. Who you are now, the girl I know now – that's real." Then he decided to lighten the mood. "And hey, at least this means that we've actually gotten along for most of the time we've known each other."

Despite the fact that she was still crying, Dawn managed to laugh a little bit. You know, Angel wasn't really all that bad. Why the heck had the monks made her think he was such a jerk? Because he wasn't. For a guy who'd just found out he was supporting someone who wasn't even really his dead true love's little sister, he was actually pretty cool. "I should go wash my face," she said.

"You're real, Dawn," Angel repeated softly. Dawn smiled at him as she turned and left the room. Shifting gears, Angel headed out after her. Only instead of heading down the hall, he headed for the stairs. He was desperate to see Willow.

"Hello, all," Spike offered, smirking, to the guilty-looking pair he and Willow now faced in the living room. He heard Peaches' tread on the stairs and put his arm around Willow's shoulders. Right now was the closest he'd felt to being a real demon in such a long time. What would his Slayer say now if she could see all of this? Guess she'd only spare a token tear for Tara, though Giles being cast out of the inner sanctum would devastate her.

The look on Angel's face as he saw Spike touching his little Red? Now that would tear her heart out and rip it to shreds.

Willow felt the weight of Spike's arm and she saw Angel enter the room out of the corner of her eye, but all that really registered was the presence of Tara and Giles – two people whose love and support had always meant so much to her… two people who didn't support her anymore.

Did they even love her?

"Hey," she said, her voice roaring unnaturally loudly in her ears. She'd been thinking the whole way back about what Spike had said – about what was gone and if she could live without it. She didn't know the answer yet, but she knew there was something she had to do for the time being. Meeting Tara's eyes, she said, "Can we talk?"

Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the kitchen. That seemed to be where funerals were held today. She heard the swish of Tara's skirt; it sounded like mournful bells.

"Nice job, Rupert," Spike said once the girls were gone. Again, his demon purred its satisfaction at the discomfort on the Watcher's face. "And don't bother pretending you don't know what I'm talking about."

"She told you," Angel said, his voice flat and uninflected. He was almost as good a liar as Angelus. Spike stored that observation away for later thought.

"Yeah, looks like she did. Coulda knocked me over with a feather when she said there was some dust-up over her magic. Didn't see anyone objecting to her digging out the abracadabra back at the bloody tower. What's the matter, Rupert? The chit didn't save Buffy so it means she's a bad little witch who gets sent to bed without any henbane?" His voice rose as he warmed to the subject. "I got a newsflash for ya: I blamed her, too. The difference is that I got over it. I figured it out, y'know? Sometimes there's nothing you can do to stop the world from ending or the best and the brightest from dying. I love Buffy – not loved, _love_– and I wish I had someone here to hate because she's gone, but the one responsible is just as dead as she is and we have to live with that and do what she'd want us to do – keep Dawn safe and the town as well." His eyes fixed on Angel's, looking again for what he still couldn't find.

"I don't blame her, Spike," Giles huffed.

"You keep telling yourself that."

Angel stayed on the sidelines for this bout, content to let Spike throw the punches. Admittedly, he'd have been jealous of William's ready defense of Willow were it not for the declaration of love he'd made to Buffy. But those avowals of eternal devotion having been made, Angel focused on the fact that someone besides him was standing up for Willow. That was a good thing and it made him happier about Spike being part of the group. He was more of an asset than Angel had thought. With Dawn now in his corner (and Willow's), it seemed that things were forming exactly to Angel's liking.

If only he knew what was going on in the kitchen.

This was hard, every bit as hard as Willow had known it would be. It was a long minute before she could even speak. During that time, she looked everywhere but at Tara. But the breadbox and the coffeemaker offered her no sympathy and no assistance. Finally, she looked into the face of her girl. "You don't trust me."

"No. It's not that, it's…"

Willow cut her off. "Look, I know what you're gonna say. And maybe you believe it. Maybe you think you trust me and that this has nothing to do with that. You might even be right. But to _me_? To me it feels like you don't trust me. And right now…" her voice hitched before she could continue, "right now, I need space to deal with that, okay?" There was more she wanted to say – about how terrified she was that Tara and Giles were right and that she wasn't good enough, not _nearly_ good enough, to handle things in Buffy's place – but the truth was that she didn't trust _Tara_ right now and she couldn't open herself up that way. "I'm gonna move into Dawn's room for awhile. She's got the extra bed and…"

"W-what?" Tara felt as if the world had fallen away beneath her feet. Giles had been so wrong about how Willow would react – she'd changed, become someone different. To Tara's shock, more than the hurt she was experiencing, what really swept her up was anger. "We have one argument and it's like – poof, it's over?"

"I didn't say that. I just need some…"

"No. This is about me having to agree with you even if I think you're wrong. I get that you're grieving, I do, but that doesn't... I miss her, too. Maybe not the way you do, but still… And so do Dawn and Giles. We're all grieving, okay? It's not just you and Angel."

Huh? "I know you guys are… What does Angel have to do with anything?" Willow was taken aback at Tara's response. She hadn't expected her to be _happy_, but the way Tara had turned on her? That was a shock. And what was her problem with Angel anyway? He'd saved their butts the other night, beheading the Nez'rai.

"You don't see it, do you? The way he's always hovering, whispering in your ear. You wouldn't be doing magic all the time if it wasn't for him and…"

"Wait a minute! Now I'm some little puppet who doesn't have a mind of her own?"

This conversation was quickly spiraling out of control and Tara was scared. She fought to get it back on track. "That's not what I said."

"That's what it sounded like. And if that's what you think of me..." Willow heard the rest of the words in her head just in time to not say them. She couldn't – wouldn't – say them. Because in spite of everything – all the hurt and anger and confusion – she still loved Tara.

As much as Tara hated manipulation, she was reduced to it now. Anything to stop the unraveling that was happening right before her eyes. She loved Willow. She couldn't lose Willow. "Do you want me to leave? To move back to…"

She should have known – should have known that manipulation was for demons like Angel. Because Willow called her bluff. "Yeah… I… I kinda think we could use some space right now."

Tara was stunned – and maybe the worst was that this was all her own fault. She'd screwed up and screwed up badly. How had she done everything wrong? "I love you," she said, her voice full of tears.

Willow took her hand and suddenly there was hope. "I love you, too. This isn't forever, okay? I just think that a break will be good. It'll let us think things through and figure stuff out and deal with…everything." A second later there was the feel of Willow's lips against her brow. "You're my girl," she said.

There wasn't anything else to say. Just a walk to take past a triumphant demon in the living room and a suitcase to pack and a cold, empty bed to go to tonight. But this wasn't the end. No it wasn't. Because Tara loved Willow with all her heart. They'd make it through this.

They would.

And Angel wasn't going to be able to keep them apart.

Willow stood at the island, trying to decide if she wanted to cry or if she'd rather throw every coffee cup in the drainer against the wall and watch them shatter. She turned around when she heard someone enter the room. "Giles." Not the person Willow wanted to see right now. Much to her own shock, she actually said so. "I'd kind of appreciate it if we didn't talk tonight. Because if you stay, I'm gonna say things I'll regret later, only later will be too late and there will be damage – lots and lots of damage. And right now? I'm as damaged as I can handle."

"I take it that you and Tara...?"

"Are taking a break. And I mean it, okay? Leave. Now."

Giles was stunned by the depth of emotion swirling in those green eyes. What had he done? Turning to leave, he said softly, "I'm sorry." She said nothing.

He offered no word to the vampires in the front room as he turned up the staircase. It wasn't terribly surprising to see Tara sniffling as she packed a suitcase. "Do you… I mean would you like me to give you a ride? Do you need a place to stay tonight?

Tara zipped her suitcase closed and turned to the man in the doorway. She didn't blame him for this; she knew who she blamed. "Thanks. I still have the dorm. But I could use the ride." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and decided to let Giles be chivalrous when he reached for her bag. It wasn't that heavy, after all. She hadn't packed everything. She'd be back soon.

It wasn't too big of a shock when Angel walked into the kitchen, but Willow started all the same. Guess her nerves were frayed to the breaking point right now. "Want some blood?" she choked out. Her decision had made itself for her and she hadn't been able to hold back the tears.

"Giles just left. With Tara."

"Yeah. I know." He looked sad and sympathetic and Willow wondered again just what Tara's problem with him was. For once her own wonky feelings where he was concerned were on mute. "We, uh… We're kind of taking a break."

"I'm sorry," he said, and judging by the look on Willow's face he was as good an actor as ever. "I know how much you love her."

"Thanks," she said, suddenly wanting to change the subject. The weird feelings were back. "Anything pop up during the research I missed?"

"Nothing that can't wait. Literally," he emphasized. "There's a prophecy but it's not set to take place for another thirty years."

She looked disappointed and he understood. For all that this break was a very good thing, it would take time for Willow to realize that and he could see why she'd want to drown her sorrows in battle.

There were things they needed to discuss, though, and perhaps they would be distraction – and comfort – enough for now. "Dawn and I talked today. She told me…about being the Key."

Oh goddess. "I meant to ask…I thought Buffy… I'm sorry, Angel." Willow started crying again. One more screw-up. Great. She never did anything right.

Angel didn't seem mad at her at all. Instead he said, "How could you have known? Dawn thought Buffy had told me too. She was surprised that I didn't know what she was talking about when she said something about being an ancient Key." He put his hand under her chin and smiled at her. "It's okay, I promise. Hey, we're actually getting along now."

"Really?" Maybe this wasn't a screw-up. Because Dawn and Angel getting along was a really good thing and if having to tell Angel herself about her origins had helped make Dawn like Angel, then Willow was glad. One bright shiny ray of light in a very dark day.

"Really," Angel affirmed. "You're doing just fine. It's not your fault that I didn't know." And why did it still irritate her, the way he always said the right thing? Wasn't that supposed to be good?

There was a play of emotions on her face that Angel couldn't decipher, but instinct told him that now was the time to retreat a bit, not to push any intimacy. So instead, he said, "I think we could all use a break tonight. There's no real danger in the offing. Why don't I take you and Dawn out to dinner and some ice cream? Spike, too, if he wants to tag along."

He could tell she was stunned by his offer to include Spike and that was good. It took her mind off everything else. "Sure," she answered. "I'll… I'll go tell Dawn and we'll change. See you in… ten minutes?"

"Ten minutes," he confirmed, then watched as she hurried out of the kitchen. If this were a date with Buffy, he could expect that ten minutes to last at least an hour, but Willow? She was too considerate for that. He fought the urge to go upstairs and change himself. It wouldn't be a good idea to indicate that to him this was a celebration, a party to celebrate the start of a brand new life.

Someday soon, however, Willow would look back on tonight and see it just the way he did. She would be in his arms then.

He sauntered into the living room where Spike sat, looking puzzled and annoyed. "I'm taking Willow and Dawn out to dinner. Care to join us?"

Tbc…


	16. Chapter 16

To One in Paradise (Chapter Sixteen)

"Where are they?" Xander cried out as he came up from the basement.

"On patrol, right? I mean, they have to be on patrol."

"With Dawn? And without the Buffybot? Because it's downstairs."

The Buffybot was in the basement? Okay, Xander had a point, but Anya didn't see the need to panic. Okay, maybe she didn't _want_ to see a need to panic, but that didn't mean she was wrong and there actually _was_ a need. "Maybe they all went out for pizza or something."

"Without us? They knew we were supposed to be here tonight."

Anya needed to have a serious talk about this kind of thing with Xander before she was bound to him for her whole mortal life, because he was trying to make her worry and worrying brought on terrible things like premature wrinkles. "Maybe they went to get some take-out and bring it home." Even as she said it, she wasn't sure, because…could all of them even have fit in… "Angel's car is gone," she said suddenly, realizing she'd noticed that and not thought of it until now.

Xander wasn't sure if that was reassuring or more fuel for the anxiety that just kept building.

There was one thing about being the guy trying to help save the world without any special powers – you depended a lot on your instincts.

Hell, the truth was that he'd learned to rely on them before he'd ever heard the name Buffy. His house had always been a minefield and if you wanted to avoid bruises and broken glass, you learned to tell by the way the air felt heavy that the drinking had started early and the threat level meant that maybe you'd better spend the night at Willow's.

She'd been the lucky one – her parents were always gone. Sometimes the envy he'd felt still made him hate himself.

He hated himself more now, because his instincts told him something bad had happened here today – the air had that heavy 'Mom and Dad were fighting' feeling and Xander's gut was twisting the way it hadn't for years and Willow was _gone_ and… Yeah, he should be concerned about everyone else, too, and he was, but what was screaming in his head was that something had happened to _Willow_ and he hadn't been here – had been _avoiding_ here – and she deserved so much better than that.

Willow was his best friend – better than even (oh God, he hated to say it because she was dead) Buffy – and he'd let her carry the load and kept telling himself that she was smarter than him and stronger than him and that she didn't need him anyway. How could he have done that? The first time they'd ever met, she'd been crying – crying like a broken crayon was the end of the world. Was she crying now? Because, yeah, she had Tara, but… But Tara wasn't Xander. Tara hadn't seen her as a little girl desperate to be good enough to make her parents pay attention to her. Tara hadn't been there through Cordelia's taunts and watched Willow struggle every day to hold her head high and pretend it didn't matter.

Of course, Tara hadn't dated the very girl who'd made Willow's life a living hell either.

Tara had never called her a pasty-faced loser and then pretended he didn't remember.

Tara was here, wasn't she, and Xander wasn't.

"Are you okay?" Anya asked and Xander nodded.

"Yeah." It was a lie, but what else could he say?

A second later, they heard the sound of the front door opening and Dawn's laughter. Dawn was laughing. This was good, right? So why was Xander's gut still twisted? He and Anya hurried into the living room.

Dawn had had fun tonight. She'd never thought she'd ever have fun again, but… Spike telling the guy at the ice cream shop to apologize for knocking her cone out of her hand while flashing his game face? And then the guy wetting his pants? They were still laughing at the way that jerk – that big, football-player-looking jerk – had shrieked like a little girl and run away – dripping…ewww – as fast as he could.

Even Angel was laughing, and boy was that weird – but it was good weird and, hey, he'd even been sort of nice to Spike tonight. So yeah, she was having fun. She just wished Willow was having fun, too.

It was sort of a shock when they walked into the living room and there were people there.

"Xander," Willow said, startled. Then she remembered – oh no. "I'm sorry. I forgot you guys were coming over tonight."

"Yeah, I can see that." He looked angry and she guessed she understood that.

"Umm… I can make you some dinner if you want. Or I can order something."

Xander's eyes quickly scanned the group and the flash of anger at the thought of them being out having fun while he was here worrying evaporated. Because there were people missing and Willow's eyes… They were almost as blank as they'd been the day… Oh God. Tara wasn't here and Willow's eyes…

"Where's Tara?" Anya asked brightly and Xander winced.

Three other pairs of eyes grew hard and cold, but to Xander's surprise, it was Dawn who shot back a harsh, "She moved out."

"That she did," Spike agreed.

"Giles drove her back to the dorms," Angel added, hoping that told enough of the story that no one would pester Willow with questions. They'd had such a wonderful time tonight. Yes, Willow was sad, but he knew she'd been comforted by the way he'd gotten along with Dawn and Spike. She'd even enjoyed Spike's silly antics at the ice cream parlour. And now here was that tactless bitch of Xander's bringing up the very things he'd been trying to help Willow put aside for awhile.

Anya looked like she was about to say something further when Xander put his hand on her arm and shook his head. Would wonders never cease? The day Angel could count on Xander to be anything but an oblivious buffoon… "I took everyone out to dinner," Angel said, almost tempting fate.

Yet once again, Xander surprised him. "That makes sense."

Willow wanted to say something – something like 'it's not permanent' – but her heart wasn't in it. Tara's betrayal still hurt in a way that went even beyond Oz having sex with Veruca. She was less ready to think about forgiveness and mending the torn places than she had been when she'd sent Tara away. Maybe it was petty and selfish and horrible, but Willow had already been bleeding so heavily when Tara had stuck her own blade into a heart that could barely beat anymore.

"Yeah, it was nice," Willow said, half-smiling at Angel. Because, after all, it _had _been nice. He'd even managed to be polite to Spike, and that thing at the ice cream parlour had been pretty funny, even if her own laughter had felt hollow. The memory would be a fine thing later, when the context of the day had been sanded away by time and all those alchemical, intangible things that happened when moments were remembered over and over. "We had Thai at that new place." She wasn't going to try to pronounce the name. Funny how rarely Asian languages came up during research. Willow was barely familiar with any of them. A little Mandarin and a smattering of Japanese, but that was it.

"I've been wanting to eat there," Anya said brightly, hoping Xander would take the hint. She loved him, but she was getting tired of pizza and hamburgers. A second later she felt badly, though, because focusing on food was thoughtless, wasn't it? Xander had stopped her from asking about Tara, and she supposed he had a point. But she could make an observation and she did. "Tara's very mean and ungrateful and I think you can do much better." If she'd hoped those words would make Willow feel better – knowing she had support and all – she'd been wrong.

"It's not like that," Willow replied and it looked like she was about to cry. Oh shoot. Anya was very depressed to have gotten it wrong. When she'd been a vengeance demon, women had always felt better when she'd insulted the men who'd just dumped them. It seemed that lesbians were different.

Spike stood on the metaphorical sidelines, watching the drama unfold – and paying special attention to the reactions of his sire. What unsettled him the most was the cold, calculating look in Angel's eyes. What it meant, though? Now _that_ Spike could hardly be certain of. It could just be another manifestation of that pathetic crush Angel had on Red. No real harm in his sire getting a bit more protective, was there? Not like Willow couldn't use a bit of that, what with Tara turning turncoat and all, not to mention that pathetic Watcher.

Something was nagging at him, however, and it wouldn't give him peace. If only he could figure out what it was. Hell, best just to watch the action here and now and later on they could have a laugh again about that pathetic tosser back at the ice cream shop. Some nights it was great to be a demon, wasn't it? Especially when his Bit looked at him like he was the most wonderful being on Earth.

His mother had looked at him like that, before he'd turned her and his memories had been tainted for all eternity.

If only Buffy could have given him that look – just once.

And didn't _that _thought just bring him crashing right back down to Earth? The way that Buffy had.

"So. I guess this means you guys will need us to watch Dawn more often," Xander offered after a moment of awkward silence. He was debating dragging Willow off somewhere and forcing her to tell him everything, but he understood – in the same uncomfortable way he was figuring everything out today – that he hadn't been there for her lately and he really didn't have the right.

How in the hell had he let this happen?

He was just glad that Anya wasn't giving him a death glare or anything. "We'll be glad to take over," she said, and Xander fell just that little bit more in love with her.

"Thanks," Willow said, with a smile that didn't get anywhere near her eyes.

"Are you guys going to patrol tonight?" Xander asked, even though he realized what the answer probably was.

"We're taking the night off," Angel interjected.

"That's a good idea." The words burned like acid in Xander's mouth, but he decided to try and get along with Angel. Yeah, he still hated Deadboy, but picking a fight with him was a bad idea. Willow would be upset and she'd been through enough – not just today, either.

"Are you sure you don't want me to make you some dinner or something?" Willow asked, not sure if they'd said anything the first time she'd offered.

"We're good." A second later, Xander gave her a brief hug and she fought the urge to cling tight. "Are you gonna be okay?"

_No_. "Yeah. I think I'll turn in early tonight, be all well-rested tomorrow." She tried to smile and hoped that's what she achieved in the end.

"Okay." Xander's voice was a shade too soft and she avoided his eyes. Nobody wanted to see how needy she was right now, least of all Xander.

"We'll be back tomorrow, ready to research," Anya piped up, making one of those 'gung-ho' gestures she favoured. Sometimes Willow even found them sort of endearing. Not now, but that probably had nothing to do with Anya.

"I'll have the party hats and performing poodles at the ready," Spike snarked, almost shocked silent by the sight of his sire suppressing a chuckle. That was the second time in a few short hours that Angel had expressed enjoyment at his antics and it was disconcerting. Again there was that _something _at the back of his mind, struggling to make itself understood.

He was almost as taken aback by Doughnut Boy's refusal to rise to the bait. But then he looked over at Willow. Yeah, guess the boy did care a bit for his friend. So did Spike, at that. He decided not to make any more wisecracks for the nonce.

Dawn had kept her mouth shut while everyone was talking. It hadn't been easy, but she was trying that sneaky thing where you stayed quiet and maybe people forgot you were there and talked about things they normally wouldn't if they remembered you were in the room. She didn't think it was working this time, but she wasn't giving up on it. Because even though she was an ancient Key, she had absolutely zero super powers and she so needed some tricks to compensate for all the ordinary teenager-iness she was stuck with.

It sucked that she wasn't going to get to patrol now that Tara was gone, but at least Xander and Anya didn't act like it was awful to have to be with her more often. No way was she going to complain about the 'no patrol' thing, either. People (_Buffy_) had sometimes told her she was selfish – and okay, maybe they weren't totally wrong – but she cared about other people – she did – and she got that now was not the time to be worried about herself. Not when Willow was hurting so much. What Dawn needed to do was just be patient and helpful and stuff.

Oh, but now she kind of needed to say _something _because Xander and Anya were leaving. "See you tomorrow."

Xander hugged her and then he and Anya said goodbye – again. And then they left. Now it was just the four of them.

Angel half-expected a 'good riddance' from Spike once the door had closed behind Xander and Anya, but to his surprise, the wayward boy held his tongue. He was glad though, because it was clear that the events of the day were catching up with Willow. While he himself saw nothing tragic in the end of her relationship with Tara and possibly even with Giles, he well understood and accepted that she did. What she needed right now was a good friend, and he was determined to be that… and more.

"I'm gonna head upstairs, okay?" Willow said.

"Can Spike stay and watch some movies with me?" Dawn wheedled.

This time Willow found herself smiling almost sincerely. She was glad Dawn had Spike to be the big brother she needed so much right now. "Okay, but don't stay up too late." Dawn bounced and Willow added with mock severity, "I mean it."

"I'll make sure she gets to bed at a reasonable hour." Willow snorted, knowing that to Spike 'a reasonable hour' probably meant four in the morning, but she figured a little indulgence wasn't always bad. Besides, there were already two people who saw her as the bad guy and she couldn't bear to add another to the list.

"All righty." She gave Dawn a tight hug. "Good night," she said to the others, touching Angel's arm lightly before heading upstairs to her room.

The room with the big bed that she'd be filling up all by herself now.

Angel had barely waited for her to have time to get upstairs before quietly telling Dawn and Spike that he was going to talk to Willow. Neither had voiced or even implied the slightest objection – not that it would have stopped him, but approval was welcome.

A moment later, he was at Willow's door and he knocked gently..

Willow wasn't really surprised when she heard the knock at her door. She was sure glad she hadn't started changing into her pj's yet, though. "Come in."

The concerned look on his face was another thing that wasn't a surprise – nor was the completely ungrateful and inappropriate sense of discomfort which had established itself as her 'Angel feeling'. She did her best to stifle it as she tried to smile. "Thanks for dinner. I haven't had Asian in awhile, unless you count that Chinese place, but it's really more Americanized Chinese and this was authentic – at least I think it was –so…" Her voice trailed off as she realized to her dismay that she was babbling, and not too interestingly.

The fact that Angel didn't seem to mind wasn't reassuring the way it should have been.

He could have continued her conversation about dinner, extended the pleasantries, but something told him that if he did, that was where things would end tonight. So instead he went straight for the heart of things. "I'm sorry about Tara. I know how much she means to you." He couldn't bring himself to say 'love'.

"Thanks."

Strangely, he couldn't think of what to say next. He decided to stay silent until instinct kicked in. It had served him disturbingly well in recent days. Nothing, however, came to mind. Then, when she spoke again, he realized that silence had been the right answer.

"I don't know how I feel," Willow said, startled by the way words that were important were suddenly pouring out of her. "I still love her, you know. She's my girl. I just… It got so complicated. She doesn't trust me and I don't think I trust her either and… I don't know what that means. Does it mean that love isn't enough or does it mean I just need to figure stuff out and then we can be together again?" For what seemed like the hundredth time, she found herself breaking down in front of Angel. "It feels…" That was when her voice and her legs gave out.

Angel helped her sit down on the bed, wrapping an arm around her as he sat beside her. "It hurts," she said through her sobs, and he still said nothing, just letting her cry her tears onto his shirt and holding her. What he wanted so badly to do was kiss her and let her know that there was someone who could take away all that loneliness and pain, but now wasn't the time. Instead, he let her cry for a while longer. Right now, all he could be was a comforting presence. The rest required that he bide his time.

"You need a good night's sleep," Angel said kindly after she'd cried herself out.

She was grateful – finally – and that made her feel a lot less guilty. She'd expected him to give her his opinion or advice and he had done neither. Maybe now her wonky feelings would just go away and she'd feel as comfortable as she should with someone who was turning out to be a really good friend. "Thanks," she replied. "I _am _kinda tired."

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said, kindly again. And with a brief squeeze of her shoulders, he got up and left the room, closing her door behind him. She changed into her pajamas and got into bed. Tossing and turning for awhile, she finally fell into a fitful sleep.

Willow's restlessness almost called to him through the walls, but Angel resisted the urge to go back to her room. No, leaving her alone was the only thing to do. Instead, he undressed and got into his own bed, the feel of the smooth silk sheets against his skin disturbingly arousing.

Tara was gone – Willow was alone.

He hadn't felt this strong a need since he'd moved back to this town, but tonight there was no denying his body.

No lotion. Damn. Oh well, it wasn't essential. He threw off the sheets and closed his eyes, reaching down and wrapping his hand around his cock. Slowly, he began stroking himself, letting the image of Willow take over his mind, calling up memories of the way she'd felt when his demon had held her tight against his body in the hall of the high school, of the way those long legs had looked when she'd answered her bedroom door in just a nightshirt…imagining the way they'd feel wrapped around him as he pounded into her.

His hand moved faster around his cock as he pictured the two of them together, her skin as pale as any vampire, but glowing with heat and sweat in a way his never would. He imagined that heat against him…around him.

He bit his lip to stifle his cry as he came, but the words on the edge of his tongue were a shock. He hadn't admitted to himself…

The cry in his mind echoed as he lay on his back, staring into nowhere, sticky with release: 'I love you.'

Tbc…


	17. Chapter 17

To One in Paradise (Chapter Seventeen)

Tara awoke with a start, disoriented for a moment when she realized she was all alone.

It was the absence of Willow, not the fact that she was back in a bed that wasn't really unfamiliar, that made her feel like a stranger in the room. Willow was that intangible feeling of home and now she wasn't by Tara's side.

Giles had tried to comfort her yesterday, but for all his optimistic words and for all her own vows that Angel wasn't going to win, Tara… Tara wasn't sure that the war wasn't over.

Would it have been so bad, she wondered, if Willow hadn't succeeded in rescuing her from that oblivion into which Glory had plunged her? At least if her mind was still gone, she wouldn't be missing Willow so much that she could barely breathe. That kind of lost would have been less painful than the lost she was feeling today.

Of course, she shook that thought off. No matter what she was enduring, being whole was infinitely better than the alternative. But she missed Willow.

Xander got up, covering his mouth as he yawned. He was trying hard not to wake Anya, who didn't have to be at the store nearly as early as he had to be at the construction site.

Mission accomplished, he thought as he stared at his snoring fiancée. She was beautiful, even making those noises with her mouth wide open. He didn't know how he'd make it through life without her, and he was glad he didn't have to try.

There was another woman in his life, though, one who was just as important to him as Anya, and she wasn't sleeping peacefully next to the woman she loved. No, she was all alone.

What the hell was wrong with Tara? How could she leave Willow at a time like this? Buffy had just died and here was Tara, who owed Willow everything, abandoning her when she needed her the most. It was like Oz all over again - minus the whole 'wolf-style cheating' thing (or at least he hoped so) - and it was even more wrong this time. He couldn't imagine Willow doing anything to Tara that would make it okay to just walk out on her. What happened?

Something Angel had said seemed weird as he remembered it…something about Giles. Giles driving Tara back to the dorms. What was up with _that_? First of all, why would Giles even be around for Willow and Tara's break-up, but second of all, driving Tara implied that he was sort of on _her_ side and that was wrong on every level there was. Tara wasn't one of _them_. She wasn't a Scooby.

And no, Xander didn't feel bad for seeing Tara as an outsider even after all this time. Maybe he would have, but not with her dumping Willow.

Okay, he didn't know for a fact who dumped who, but c'mon. Willow hadn't dumped anyone since she'd broken up with _him_ for stealing her Barbie when they were five. The only scenario that made sense here was that Tara had walked out on _her_.

Tonight, no matter what, he was going to talk to Willow alone and find out what happened. Tonight he was going to start making their friendship back into what it used to be. After all, she needed him. It wasn't like she'd tell her troubles to Dawn, and as for Deadboy? Yeah right.

Xander brushed his teeth before filling a thermos with coffee and heading out the door.

Far from taking the edge off his need, last night's session of self-gratification had only sharpened it – probably because of the unexpected truth he'd been forced to recognize. Angel was relieved that witches didn't have the heightened senses given to his kind or Willow would be extremely wary of him right now… and that knowledge didn't help his mood.

She didn't feel the same way about him that he did about her.

It wasn't that he didn't understand. She was still reeling from Buffy's death and the feelings she had for Tara. He'd win her over though, and he knew it. But that didn't make it easy on him right at this moment.

"Want me to make you some eggs?" he offered.

Willow shook her head. "No thanks." She wasn't hungry; she wondered why she was even in this room.

The building of a habit she supposed. It seemed like most of her time was spent in this kitchen lately. She'd always heard that the kitchen was the heart of the home. Of course, if that were true, her childhood home was a vampire for all the use its heart ever got.

Not here, though. Willow remembered all the times she'd been in here with Buffy and her Mom… with Dawn, too. All those memories that weren't anything but. Still, they felt real and that was what counted, wasn't it?

Her thoughts spilled onto her tongue and she found herself asking Angel, "How are you handling it? Finding out about Dawn, I mean?"

As disconcerting as it was, Willow's habit of suddenly blurting out whatever she was thinking was endearing. That much had always been true even if that affection took a different tone now. He thought for a moment before answering. "It's… weird," he said with a small laugh that he hoped didn't sound as forced as it actually was. There was no good way for him to tell her how he really felt – angry at Buffy for not telling him the truth herself. He switched focus, taking the spotlight off himself. "I can't imagine what it's like for _her_, knowing that she's not…" Unsure of which word would be the right one, Angel left the sentence unfinished.

Again, his instincts seemed to be working well and he was rewarded with the touch of Willow's hand on his… or _was _it a reward? He fought to keep himself from reacting to the feel of her skin against his.

"Yeah," she said softly. She almost smiled at him. It was an odd reaction, she knew, but she was so glad that Angel cared enough about Dawn to worry about how she felt about knowing that she hadn't actually _been_ Dawn for as long as she or anyone else remembered.

Buffy would be so happy if she could be here to see this.

Willow felt her eyes well up and did her best to blink back the tears before she could shed them. Angel still noticed. "Are you okay?" There was that depth in his eyes that made her want to recoil and she hated herself for reacting that way to kindness and concern.

"Yeah. I was just… I was thinking that Buffy would be really glad if she could see the way you and Dawn are getting along now, you know?"

Angel couldn't stop himself from putting his arms around Willow. Her grief was a powerful thing and for a moment he envied her this depth of feeling. Then he remembered Doyle. Just thinking his name brought up emotions and a sense of loss that were more cruel and real than anything he could make himself feel for Buffy, yet at least they proved he _could_ grieve and he clung to them, tears forming. He let them fall, knowing that Willow would think they came from the same source as hers did.

He'd do nothing to correct her mistake.

Dawn's stomach growled and she realized she was going to have to get out of bed and go downstairs. Maybe she'd eat Cocoa Puffs or something this morning, something that would mean Willow didn't feel like she had to make breakfast. Because hey, Willow had just broken up with Tara; she shouldn't be doing chores and stuff.

Guess if emotional pain was a 'get out of doing chores free' card, then maybe they should just hire a maid and a cook and a butler and a team of mercenaries to handle patrol because none of them should be doing anything.

What would Buffy be doing for Willow right now if she were here? She thought back to the memories she had of when Oz had cheated on Willow and bailed but she couldn't remember what Buffy had done to cheer her up. Ben and Jerry's maybe? Shopping?

She remembered _something_, though.

_"I just wish Willow would get over it. I mean, I get that it hurts, but he's gone. She needs to start moving on, you know?"_

Oh God.

But Buffy didn't _really_ say that, right? That was just one of her oh-so-fake memories. Right? Right? Because Buffy would never be like that. She loved Willow as much as Dawn did and there was no way she would…

She had. The monks had pulled that memory out of reality and given it to Dawn like some really bad Christmas gift, something that exploded and left shards of plastic and chemicals everywhere.

Buffy wasn't perfect. Okay, that was the truth, but it wasn't something Dawn liked thinking about now. It felt like she was dishonouring Buffy's memory, like she was the worst sister ever… Like she wasn't really Buffy's sister at all.

Wouldn't Buffy be sorry she'd been the one to jump if she could read Dawn's mind right this minute?

Getting up, Dawn dragged herself to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror over the sink. She didn't look anything like Buffy, did she? She didn't look anything like her at all.

Giles sat at his table, drinking a cup of tea and staring at nothing whatsoever, unless air counted as something, which he supposed technically it did, still…

Sod it. And sod _him_.

He'd well and truly bollixed up everything good that remained in his life last night and there was no getting away from that fact. A part of him blamed it all on Tara, and he supposed there was some justification for that blame, but still… What had possessed him? (And oh if only he _had _been possessed.)

Had Spike been right? Did he believe that it was Willow's fault that Buffy was dead?

More than anything, he wanted to answer that with a resounding and emphatic 'no', but the best he could manage was a timorous and slightly equivocal one. What a horrible man he was. Willow had shouldered an impossible burden that day and she had done… Well, she had done more than he had and well he knew it.

And she was still shouldering an impossible burden.

He should apologize, he decided. He needed to apologize. His eyes fixed, at last, on the bottle of scotch that stood in the center of the table. Standing up, he picked it up by the neck and walked into the kitchen…where he opened it and poured what was left in it down the sink. Be a man, Rupert. Face the day.

Somehow, he felt – not better, but like a better man. A better man than he'd been since Buffy's death. Whether that man could make things right with Willow, however? That was still unknown.

Willow and Angel were in the kitchen together when Dawn came downstairs. For a split second when she saw them together she had the weirdest feeling – not ooky weird, but weird, and that was… weird. She wished she had some idea what it meant

"Morning, Dawnie," Willow said with that fake smile that made Dawn's stomach get all knotty and tight. She wondered if she'd be able to eat anything.

"Good morning." She looked at Angel, too, hoping he knew he was included.

"Hey," Angel offered. He'd expected Dawn, but at the same time, he had to admit he wished she'd stayed upstairs awhile longer. Still, there was something… nice about being together, the three of them. In a way that should have filled him with guilt and self-hatred but that somehow didn't, he realized that learning the truth about Dawn might have played a large part in the way he cared about her now, the way he felt like she was _his_ family.

It was the same sort of sea change he'd experienced with his feelings about Willow when… Had it started here? Or had the seeds been sown when he'd seen her standing solemnly alone in the lobby of what didn't seem at all like his home anymore?

Did it matter? Why he felt what he did? It might be time to shed excessive introspection. It was a skin he'd outgrown – probably around the time he'd fucked and forsaken Darla and then torn himself to bits over what he'd done in the aftermath – torn himself right out of the fabric of the life he'd woven for himself in Los Angeles.

Of course there were the Powers that Be to worry about. His all-important mission, the destiny he'd been serving in Los Angeles. But battlefields changed, didn't they? And he was convinced that he was right where he was supposed to be. If he wasn't, he'd be told; of that he was certain.

He tuned in to the conversation in time to hear Willow ask Dawn, "Wanna go with me to the grocery store?"

"Sure. Oh! And can we go to the mall?"

He watched as Willow's face fell ever so slightly. He knew exactly what she was thinking even though he had a hunch Dawn hadn't meant it that way. For a moment he considered asking them to wait and he'd go with them tonight. Instead, he decided to be a bit less selfish. Pulling his wallet out of his back pocket – force of habit kept it with him at all times – he extracted several hundred dollar bills. "Why don't you do a little shopping while you're there? I bet you both could use some summer clothes." A flash of Willow – not in a bikini, but in a sheer summer dress, standing in the moonlight – clouded his vision for a moment. He hoped no one noticed his brief distraction.

"You shouldn't. We really don't need anything," Willow said, even as she knew that Dawn had outgrown the summer clothes she'd never actually worn.

"Nonsense." Angel's face got oddly stern and he almost shoved the cash into her hand. "I said I was going to help out around here."

She wasn't unsettled; she was grateful. She was. It was just guilt over all the money he was spending on them, that was all. "Thanks," she said. Hope that sounded as sincere as it should. Turning to Dawn, she said, "You need to eat something before we leave."

She started to get some eggs out of the fridge when Dawn's voice stopped her. "I'm gonna have cereal today, okay? I'm kind of egged out."

"All right. Guess that means I should go upstairs and pull myself together." Which meant make-up and probably a less dismal outfit than her current nondescript t-shirt and jeans – oh, and brushing her teeth.

Just as she reached the doorway to the dining room, Angel's hand on her arm stopped her. "Buy something for yourself too." He gave her a crooked grin and added, "That's an order." He was joking and she knew that, so she fought to keep the words from bothering her.

"Okay," she replied, trying to match his light tone. Then she headed out of the room and upstairs. Dawn would be getting some badly-needed new clothes today and that was a good thing. And hey, at least the mall was somewhere that held no Tara-shaped memories in its walls. That was an even better thing.

Once she figured Willow was out of earshot, Dawn said, "Thanks. I mean, I was just thinking about doing the window-shopping thing – to take her mind off Tara and all – but I think actual _shopping_ shopping might be even better. I promise I won't spend lots of your money or anything. I'll stick to the clearance racks." She was babbling and she felt like a dork, but she was still getting used to thinking Angel was cool. Plus, the shopping trip was a big surprise.

How rich was he anyway? Did private detectives make that much money? On TV they never showed them even getting paid so it wasn't like she really had a clue.

Angel was talking now though so she'd probably better pay attention and just forget about his bank account. "It's my pleasure. You both could use a day to just have some fun. Now, you better eat your breakfast before Willow gets back downstairs."

He went to the cupboard and got out a box of Cheerios, bypassing the good stuff. Darn. He was expecting her to eat healthy, wasn't he? Well, he was paying for her new clothes so… She went to the fridge and got milk. "Thanks," she said as she took the box of unsweetened cardboard o's from him uncomplainingly and pouring them into a bowl she retrieved from the dish drainer.

"You're welcome." He walked up to where she was sitting while trying to choke down her tasteless cereal and leaned down conspiratorially. "And, Dawn? You don't have to stick to the sale racks. Just make sure Willow buys something for herself too, okay?"

"Sure." She nodded enthusiastically, but the weird feeling happened again. What was it anyway? Because the only weird thing about Angel wanting Willow to do something for herself was that no one else ever seemed to think of things like that. Okay, yeah, that did sort of make it weird, huh. So was that it? Or was it the whole 'Angel never bought clothes for Buffy' thing? Because he might have been totally broke back then. Not like he had a job in those days and it wasn't like any other vampires she knew had money. Spike had to steal half the cigarettes he smoked. (Note to self: Don't ever let him find out you know about that.)

The sound of Willow's footsteps told her to hurry up and finish her cereal, so she gulped down a couple more spoonfuls, finishing what she hoped was enough to satisfy both Angel and Willow before Willow entered the room. Her smile was only sorta fake as she caroled, "Ready to go, Dawnie?"

"Let me just go upstairs and get my purse, okay?" Bounding out of the room, she hurried up to her room. Would Willow be mad if she changed her shirt, too?

Willow stood there in the kitchen, feeling oddly awkward. Maybe it was having so much cash in her handbag. "Are you sure it's okay? Spending all this money, I mean?" It suddenly occurred to her to wonder just how much money Angel had brought with him. Did he have a big bag of hundreds in the bedroom? Did he have a bank account? Was all this money from Angel Investigations? It wasn't like Spike had a big storehouse of cash, so she figured it had to be.

"I want you to have anything you want…both of you." His eyes were guileless and open and Willow hated herself for the chill that went up her spine. Angel was being _nice_– incredibly generous, in fact – and for some reason she couldn't seem to feel the appropriate gratitude. One of these days, she'd get over her wonky feelings, right?

Seconds later, Dawn came bounding into the room… wearing a different shirt. It figured. "You ready?" she asked, as close to bouncing as she'd been for a long time, or what seemed like a long time anyway.

Willow nodded with what she hoped was similar enthusiasm. "Yup," she answered, dangling the keys to Joyce's… to the family car. "Let's go." She turned to Angel as she started to follow Dawn out the back door. "We'll be back in a couple of hours. Need me to make a blood run?"

"That'd be great. Thanks."

"Okay." With that, she and Dawn were out the door and Angel was alone. He didn't feel lonely, though. Maybe it was foolishly hopeful, but the fact that the last words she'd spoken as she left were about him… That was something real and tangible in which he could believe, on which he could build his dreams for the life he would build here.

Speaking of real and tangible, he needed to get more cash soon. A phone call or two should take care of it and he decided to make the calls in a little while, while the girls were still out. He preferred to keep his financial affairs his own business.

In the meantime, he _was_ alone. He headed upstairs to the shower and to another solitary fantasy. It was only for the time being though. Soon enough, he'd have the partner he wanted.

The partner he loved.

Tbc…


	18. Chapter 18

To One in Paradise (Chapter Eighteen)

"You know, Angel's kind of cool."

Willow was so grateful she wasn't driving when she heard those words come out of Dawn's mouth or she'd have driven off the road for sure. Yes, she'd seen that the two of them had been getting along better, but it was a long way from 'getting along' to 'kind of cool' and she was stunned that Dawn and Angel had gotten there. "Yeah," she managed to reply, wondering as she did if maybe it was the shopping trip that had turned the tide. She hoped not. Joyce would have wanted Dawn to have better values than that. So would Buffy.

Dawn raced over to a rack of summer dresses. They were crinkly cotton with a print of green and purple flowers. "This would look awesome on you," she crowed, holding up one in Willow's size. "You so have to try this on." Willow was still standing at the rack of t-shirts Dawn had been looking through and she didn't even look interested. Darn it. She'd promised Angel she'd get Willow to buy something. Besides, she wanted to do something to take Willow's mind off Tara being such a b-i-t-c-h. Shopping had always worked for…

Buffy.

Shopping had always made Buffy feel better no matter what she was sad about.

Willow wasn't Buffy, though.

Not that that was a bad thing. Because Buffy was Buffy and nobody should try to be her. Not even now that she was gone and Dawn missed her right down to the pit of her stomach.

"Pleee-ase?" Dawn wheedled, holding the dress in front of herself and striking poses. She still wanted Willow to try it on. She'd look so pretty in it and if Tara saw her, she'd feel totally horrible for having screwed up and it would serve her right. That would probably make Willow feel better, huh?

Willow sighed and took the dress from Dawn. It wouldn't hurt to try it on. "All right, I'll try it on. But you keep looking for some new shorts and stuff. Not _too_ short, though," she warned. Some of the shorts Dawn had been looking at were completely inappropriate.

Dawn huffed ostentatiously, but Willow could tell she was teasing, and anyway, it wasn't like she could buy anything without Willow seeing it first. She took the dress from Dawn's outstretched hand and… the oddest chill went up her spine. Okay, this was getting to be too much. Weird Angel feelings were bad enough, but weird _dress_ feelings?

She headed for the dressing room and worried about herself.

The clothing racks beckoned and Dawn searched through them while she kept an eye out for Willow. She would come out and show Dawn how she looked in the dress, right? Her hand kept falling on the hanger with the coolest pair of shorts… a pair Willow had said 'no way' to several times. Looking around, she saw that there were no sales clerks around and the security tag was loose. She could pop it off and have those shorts in her bag in a flash. No big deal, right? What Willow didn't know…

But just as she was working the tag, something stopped her. Not some burly security guard, but the thought of facing Willow knowing what she'd done. Maybe Willow really _wouldn't_ know, but Dawn would know, and with everything Willow was going through… It was selfish and stupid and wrong. She tried talking herself back into boosting the shorts by reminding herself of what _she_ was going through, but that only made it worse. Her mom's eyes swam before hers, disappointed and angry, and darn it, she just couldn't take those shorts.

Being mature and law-abiding sucked, but the security tag stayed right where it was and the cutest denim shorts ever stayed on their hanger.

Would Spike laugh at her for being such a priss? Well, maybe, except for the part about her not wanting to do something her mom would be upset about. It was one thing when they'd broken into the Magic Box. That was when her mom had still been alive. Now it just felt… Spike had loved her mom too and he'd get it, right? But even though she thought that, she decided not to tell him. What if she was wrong and he thought she was lame and boring and a baby because she left the shorts on the rack? She couldn't stand it if he didn't think she was cool. Spike was one of the two people she loved most in the whole world.

Speaking of the people she loved most, the other one came out of the dressing room and Dawn almost bounced. Willow looked so great. Tara would for sure eat her heart out if she could see her now. "You are so buying that!" Dawn squealed.

"You really think it's me?" Willow wasn't at all sure . It was kind of sheer and she was wondering about whether she should be dressing like this right now. A part of her thought maybe black crepe would be a whole lot more appropriate under the circumstances. Then she looked at Dawn – Dawn, who was smiling, really smiling – and she decided that donning mourning dress would be selfish and inconsiderate. Joyce was dead. Buffy was dead. Dawn had lost… her whole family, really. What she needed was for the people around her to show her that life would go on and the sun would keep shining. If Willow in a sundress would help, then by golly, Willow would buy this dress and wear it.

"It's completely you," Dawn affirmed, and Willow's decision was made.

"Did you find anything for yourself?" Willow asked.

"No, not really. But there's a lot more stores we can go to."

Willow nodded. "Okay. Let me just change and pay for this and then we'll hit the rest of the mall." Dawn's smile went with her back to the dressing room.

Giles stood behind the counter of the Magic Box, having decided to postpone trying to mend fences with Willow in favour of attending to his business. Looking over the inventory list, he was deeply gratified, and not a little surprised, to see how well Anya was keeping records. She was a fine employee, personal peccadilloes aside, and he was thankful she worked here. These days since Buffy's death had not brought out the strength of his character and while he didn't suppose it had been long enough to sink the business, he'd certainly have had troubles with which to contend were it not for Anya.

He debated whether or not to convey those sentiments to the lady herself, seeing that doing so exposed him to the risk of her immediately asking for a raise, but in the end, he came down on the side of honour. "Everything looks quite in order. I… I greatly appreciate the way you've handled things while…"

"While you've drunk yourself into a stupor every day because Buffy died?" There was no malice in her tone. It was a simple statement of fact made in that disturbingly blunt fashion which was Anya's custom. Still, it did set Giles back on his heels.

"Yes, well…"

"It's okay," she continued. "It's very normal for humans to do stupid things like try to drink your troubles away, even though all it does is make you vomit a lot and neglect personal hygiene and wind up with a tattoo of the name of someone you don't even remember having sex with and…"

"Yes, yes, Anya. I see your point," Giles interrupted. He was rubbing the bridge of his nose in that way he did when Xander said something annoying and Anya felt somehow bad, even though it wasn't as if she'd said anything that wasn't true.

She decided to try to be more understanding. "I miss her too, you know. I was at the cleaners yesterday and there was a girl in there wearing an outfit that would have looked much better on Buffy and I almost told her that, except… Except I didn't want to talk about Buffy being dead, because I would have cried and I didn't want to do that in front of some idiot girl who was wearing clothes that should have been Buffy's."

Somewhere in Anya's odd rambling was real pain and it touched Giles deeply. He hated to admit it, but while he'd thought about Willow's grief and Dawn's grief and Xander's grief, he'd never really thought about what Anya might be going through. It brought him up short. "She was your friend. I know you must feel… the way we all do," he said.

To his shock, he found himself the recipient of a brief, awkward, but very genuine hug. "I do," she said. "Thank you for finally noticing." Again, the words would have been stingingly sarcastic from anyone else, but Anya was Anya. "Oh, and don't worry. I'm not going to try and take advantage of your vulnerable emotional state to ask for a raise." Giles's estimation of her character rose again…and then she added, "Xander specifically told me not to, even though we could definitely use the money, what with the wedding and all."

He had to turn his face away to conceal the near-chuckle he was fighting to stifle. Yes, indeed – Anya was Anya. "Admirable restraint," he choked out. "But the least I can do is give you the afternoon off. With pay."

"Thank you," Anya replied. "Oh, and could I have tomorrow off too? Because the place I'm thinking of getting the cake from is closed today and I am not going to pay a ridiculous amount of money for something unless I can sample it first."

"Yes, of course," Giles said as Anya grabbed her jacket and purse and hurried to the door.

"See you later," she called back as she left.

Now that she was gone, Giles allowed himself to laugh – for the first time since Buffy died. He felt a momentary twinge of guilt until it occurred to him that Buffy had always been full of life and laughter. She wouldn't have wanted him to drown in sorrow and misery. So he laughed again.

There wasn't a lot to do during the day and Spike wished like anything that he had cable or even some books to while away the hours 'til dark. _Passions_ was over and there was fuck all on regular telly right now. He needed to do something about that – add some creature comforts and such to this place. Last night had made him realize that despite the fact that he still felt like a piece of him had been ripped away when Buffy died, he was still here and the world was still turning…and he had an unlife that even had some meaning still. There was Dawn, of course, and Red was becoming a pretty good pal, and damn if he wasn't actually enjoying the whole white-hat gig. Even with Angel around, things weren't all bad.

Angel.

Now that he'd spent time with him where they weren't trying to kill each other, he had to admit that they could get on fairly well – at least if Angel's restraint held and he stopped bringing up that damn Buffybot mess. It was also no bad thing that his sire was supporting the girls and keeping the household together.

Yeah, alright, he had some misgivings about Angel's feelings toward Willow, but he also couldn't see how they could do anyone any harm, that cold calculation he thought he'd perceived notwithstanding. What mattered most was that, while he was making nice a bit with Niblet, Angel wasn't trying to edge him out. If he did, the world would be minus one hair-gel-addicted vampire with a soul faster than you could say 'poof,' so no worries there. Not like the damn chip would prevent him from protecting his turf from the likes of Angel. But no, he didn't really see that happening at all. Not after the way Angel had let him be the hero to Dawn last night.

Things were working out, Spike figured. Okay, Buffy might not be exactly happy about the _way_they were working out if she knew, but she wasn't here, was she? Nope, she was in Paradise – he was sure of that – so what the devil would it matter to her anyway?

He flopped back down on the couch and began mindlessly flipping through the few meager channels his television picked up. Tonight he was gonna ask Willow for the loan of a VCR or something. Sunset couldn't get here soon enough.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway roused Angel from the book he was reading. Just as well. It was hardly the first time he'd ever read _Oliver Twist_. Willow's books were obviously in her room and he wasn't going to go in there and take one without permission so he'd been stuck with choosing from what was on the shelves downstairs. At least this one wasn't one of those horrible recent bestsellers. Angel shuddered at even having touched them.

One aspect of modern life he appreciated, though: rapid courier service. His money would be here tomorrow. It was a good thing he had contacts wholly separate from Angel Investigations. The last thing he wanted to do was have Wesley pry into his finances and ask questions about what he was doing. Yes, he was going to tell them that he was probably not returning to Los Angeles, but that could wait. Especially since he did want to be sure that the Powers That Be really had altered the location of his mission, as he'd come to believe.

He heard the back door open and shut and then the sound of voices, so he got up from his bed and made his way casually downstairs, finding Willow and Dawn in the kitchen setting down a number of grocery bags. But what about…?

"We have to go back out and get the clothes and stuff," Willow said the moment she saw him. "Would you do me a favour and put the ice cream bars in the freezer? We went to Pavilions and there was traffic on the way back so they might be kind of melty already."

Angel nodded and began searching through the bags for the aforementioned ice cream as Willow and Dawn headed back outside. He found them easily and stowed them in the freezer, then put the milk and cheese and eggs in the refrigerator. The rest of the items he left to Willow to sort out. A few seconds later, she was back, and so was Dawn, who was cheery and chattering a mile a minute. "Did you see the hat that woman was wearing? Oh my God!"

"I had that same hat in high school," Willow reminded her, her own discomfort at the memory of wearing it in public ameliorated by the look of embarrassment on Dawn's face.

"It looked way better on you," Dawn backpedaled.

Willow laughed. "No it didn't. It was a horrible hat." She turned her attention to Angel. "Thanks for stowing the ice cream."

"You're welcome." He smiled at her and she and Dawn both held up the bags from the mall. "I take it the shopping trip was successful," he added.

"Except for the shorts," Dawn said, mock-glaring at Willow. She wasn't really upset – not like she couldn't have them if she really wanted to – but she figured she was expected to gripe, so she did.

"There is no way you are ever wearing shorts like that. Buf… Spike would pitch a fit if you wore those and you know it. Besides, I don't approve of them either."

Dawn caught Willow's slip but she decided not to say anything. No point in bringing the mood down by talking about what they were all already sad every minute about anyway. "All right," she sighed dramatically. "I guess the other clothes are cool enough."

"It's not like you didn't get _any_ shorts. You just got ones that cover your…" Willow remembered Angel's presence before she finished the sentence. "That keep you covered. You know, so you won't…get all sunburned." Oh goddess did that sound lame. At least Angel didn't look like he was laughing or anything.

"I better go up and put this stuff away," Dawn said. To Willow's absolute amazement, she gave Angel a brief hug. "Thanks, Angel." And then she had gathered up her bags and was gone.

Angel was surprised by Dawn's gesture of affection, but it pleased him. It just proved that he was right – this was his family now, wasn't it? Himself, Willow, Dawn…even Spike, he conceded. The four of them. There was a symmetry there.

"I see you got something for yourself," Angel said, noting the bag at Willow's feet and trying not to sound too pleased.

"Yeah, just a sundress. Dawn kind of insisted." She shrugged and looked uncomfortable, so he dropped the subject. But the vision he'd had before they left came back to mind. A sign. It had to be.

"So. We'll be patrolling tonight. I didn't want to presume so I didn't use your computer. I don't know if there's anything new in town, I'm afraid."

You know, it was…nice. The way Angel left her stuff alone. And yes, she felt wonky again, but now that she felt it all the time with him, it was getting normal enough not to bother her too much.

"That's okay. There's time for me to hit the morgue and police department sites before I get the Buffybot ready. I don't remember anything big from the books."

"Neither do I. Hopefully that means we won't have any real trouble." He meant that, too. While there were times when he was in the mood for battle, tonight he hoped they finished up early enough for him to spend some time with Willow.

"I hope you're right, but I'm gonna look up this fire spell I remember, just in case. I mean, I'm not that handy with a stake, am I?" She chuckled, but it didn't sound convincing. He remembered what happened on their last patrol and Angel hastened to reassure her.

"You're just fine." Now, he realized, would be a good moment to talk about her role and help her see things in perspective. "None of us expect you to do it all, you know. It's not like any of us can fight the battle alone – me, Spike, you. We all need each other. Even Buffy didn't do it by herself. She wouldn't have lasted as long as she did without you and the others. Spike and I are fighters and we're good at it. You have your magic and it's important and it's good. But none of us can be or do everything. None of us can fight the whole war single-handed. And that's okay. Because we have each other. You're not alone, Willow."

Angel's words brought up all her insecurities and guilt, but, oddly, they helped allay them too. What he said... It wasn't anything like what Tara and Giles had said. He wasn't telling her that she was using too much magic or that she should stop. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was trying to be everything now to make up for not having been everything when…

When it would have saved Buffy's life.

"Thanks," she said softly. Her eyes were locked on Angel's now.

Okay, was it her imagination or were those eyes getting closer?

A split second later, she had her answer as Angel's lips touched hers.

Tbc…


	19. Chapter 19

To One in Paradise (Chapter Nineteen)

Angel was kissing Willow.

It felt as if time was somehow standing still, holding itself in check just so that this moment might last forever. Certainly, he wished it would.

It couldn't, though. Not unless he pushed this past the point of prudence. So he pulled back, his eyes on hers, doing his best to read her reaction.

Oh God. Had she just… had Angel just? Oh God. She'd just kissed Angel. _Buffy's_ Angel, who was… male. Those were two very good reasons why this never should have happened, especially the first one.

Why _had_ it happened? Why had she _let_ it happen? Why did Angel…? Her head was spinning and she felt like she might fall if only for the fact that she had no idea which way 'down' was.

"Willow?" Angel's voice echoed in her ears, turning her name into a strange, meaningless sound, and it took a moment before it even occurred to her to say anything in response.

"Yeah. Sorry." Not that she knew what she was apologizing for. It was just a word. But nine times out of ten it seemed to be the right one, so why not play the odds?

"Are you?" Angel asked, hating the word she'd spoken, wanting to grab her and kiss her until her lips were too swollen to ever say it again. He knew there was so much confusion in her life and that she couldn't see things as clearly as he did, but he'd hoped… He took an enormous risk. "I'm not."

Her eyes grew wide and he could see fear in them – that and guilt. He supposed he wasn't surprised by that. "Buffy and I…" He paused before shading the truth in a slightly choked voice. "I'll always love her. But we were over for a long time."

Angel took her hand and Willow could feel every inch of each strong finger. Again the impression of 'male-ness' was overwhelming. It was an alien thing and she wasn't totally sure why. It wasn't like she'd never held a man's hand, never kissed… Except she really hadn't, had she? Oz, Xander – both had been boys. They weren't anything like Angel. They'd never exuded the confidence, the dominance that made her feel fragile for all of her spells and her magic. He was pure alpha male in a way that Oz's wolf could never have imagined.

Why was she thinking about this and not about Buffy? Buffy – whose heart would be broken if…

She were here.

But she wasn't. She was gone. Gone forever and ever. She was never coming back.

The thought was more at home in her mind than she wanted it to be, along with the certainty that she was never again going to wake up confused and with that tiny hope that Buffy was alive after all.

Had Angel's kiss been that last shovelful of earth on the grave in her mind? If it was, she hated him for it. She didn't _want_ to accept that Buffy was dead. She wanted that fresh pain every morning when she realized that her dreams were just that – dreams – and that Buffy really had jumped from that tower to save the world.

"Tara," she said, startling herself. That was one more reason this kiss had been so wrong. Tara was still her girl.

Angel fought to hide his contempt at the sound of the girl's name. "She betrayed you."

"I love her," she countered, the tears swimming in her eyes threatening to drown Angel's hopes.

"I know." The words burned like holy water, but he said them, instinct telling him that the best argument he could make was not to argue at all.

Watching her, he saw a faraway look come into her eyes as she got lost in her thoughts. It was a moment or two before she spoke again. "Why did I…?" Her voice was soft, but he heard her all the same. Hope soared again, though not on wings of heavenly angels. No, these were darker wings… _his_ wings.

Reaching out, he took her hand. She didn't pull away. "You didn't do anything wrong. _We_ didn't do anything wrong."

Her eyes were focused now and they met his. "Didn't we?"

"No."

Willow looked down at the hand wrapped around hers. It was a large hand, more of that masculinity she found so unfamiliar and imposing. All kinds of reality started crashing down on her, like rocks in an avalanche. What were they going to do now? It wasn't like she could ask Angel to move out. Dawn was getting taller by the minute - she had grown a whole size. She would need school clothes in a few months. And what about food? And the mortgage payments? Plus…

He was her friend. For all the odd feelings he kept evoking from her, he was definitely her friend – the closest one she had. She felt a brief stab of a different kind of guilt as she thought of Xander, but that didn't make the truth any less true. Xander had Anya and… Willow loved him dearly, but when he had a girlfriend, his friendship with her always suffered. Buffy's death hadn't changed that. Now that Anya was going to be his _wife_? There was no chance they'd ever share their past closeness again.

The realization made her want to cry, but she couldn't let go in front of Angel, not now, not until she'd gotten things back to the way they were supposed to be. "We can't do this."

While he wanted to argue, Angel had watched Willow's face, seen all the thoughts and confusion behind her eyes, and he decided it was best to appear to back down. "We're friends," he said, not sure how he felt about the perceptible sigh of relief those words immediately elicited. He supposed it was a good thing for now. "That's never going to change."

She looked down at their hands and put her other one over his for a brief few seconds. "I'm glad. I really am. Because you've been… a really good friend." The tone of her voice was almost pleading.

He smiled, knowing she couldn't see the wheels turning and the shadows behind his eyes, or at least that she wouldn't. She had power and she'd been witness to more evil and death than most, but the goodhearted naïveté that had drawn her so easily into the battle was still there, and it kept her from seeing all she might. It was one of the things he loved about her – that purity that could never quite be destroyed.

Silence reigned – obviously awkward to her – until she spoke again. "I should probably go downstairs, get the Buffybot up and running. It'll be dark soon and we need to patrol tonight."

He nodded and let go of her hand, taking in every inch of her slim form as she walked away from him and headed for the basement. Today hadn't gone nearly as well as he wished, but he'd kissed her and now that she was gone he could close his eyes and savour the memory. Yes, he'd kissed her, and while she hadn't been overtly receptive, he saw reason for optimism in her near-desperate desire for their friendship to remain. She needed him. That was a start. The rest…? Well, that would come soon enough.

Blood. That was something he definitely could do with right now. There was a picture of Buffy on the refrigerator and he stared at it for a long moment before opening the door and getting out a bag of Willie's finest. Willow would have expected that snapshot of a smiling girl to make him feel guilty about the kiss, but it didn't. He'd slept with Darla. Buffy had moved on to Riley Finn. And though she had still carried a torch for Angel, she shouldn't have. The only guilt he felt was because of that – because he'd never looked her in the eye and told her to let go and give herself completely to someone else. Holding onto her heart had been selfish and wrong and in its own way it was every bit as cruel as anything Angelus had ever done.

Taking a mug from the cupboard, he emptied the bag of blood into it and put it in the microwave. In a little while, Spike, Xander, and Anya would be arriving and it would be time to get ready for patrol.

Giles shut the door of the Magic Box and locked it, staring at the 'Closed' sign as if it had answers for him. But it wasn't even chiding him for shuttering the shop early. Perhaps it knew his duty as well as he did, and that duty was to go and make his apologies to Willow. That was an answer in its way, now wasn't it?

An ordinary man might chide himself (or seek psychiatric care) for anthropomorphizing a plastic-coated sign, but Rupert Giles wasn't that sort of man, now was he? No, he was…he _had been_ a Watcher. He owned a magic shop – a magic shop which dispensed items actually possessing the powers attributed to them – and…

And he was stalling. Fear. It had power as well, didn't it? Well, seeing as how the demon representing it was small enough to be crushed by one of Buffy's ridiculous shoes, it would behoove him to memorialize his Slayer by defeating his own incarnation of that creature.

Turning away from the door of his business, he strode purposefully to his car and got in. Turn the key, that's it. Now start the engine. With that, he was on his way to what had once been Buffy's home. Time to repair what was left of his family.

With his barely-serviceable blanket smoldering around his uncomfortably hot head, Spike burst through the back door. He wasn't terribly surprised to find Angel in the kitchen, though his being alone was a bit of a twist. "Hullo," he said, forgoing his usual snark and not quite sure what to say in its absence.

Angel nodded before downing what appeared to be the last swallow from a mug of blood. He had an odd, almost smug aura and Spike fairly itched with curiosity. Not that wild banshees could drag even the most innocuous question from him. "Dawn's upstairs," Angel offered, and Spike decided to take what his instinct told him was a hint. They'd been getting along the past day or so and, for reasons he had no interest in thinking about, he found himself hoping it would stay that way.

"Right then. I'll go and see what she's up to. Thanks."

Angel watched through narrowed eyes as Spike walked out of the kitchen. He was behaving nothing like the contumacious brat of old. It was another sign, he decided, that he was right where he was supposed to be. More and more, he could sense the people around him slipping into their proper roles. Willow was the most recalcitrant, but even she… Today had been progress.

He listened to the faint strains of conversation from the basement before heading for the living room to look through some books. He didn't think they'd offer any information pertaining to tonight's patrol, but it never hurt to be prepared for the future. The future was going to be something well worth taking care of.

"Bit?" Spike asked as he knocked on Dawn's bedroom door.

"Spike!" she squealed as she opened it and all but knocked him down with an exuberant hug. It meant the world, the way she was always glad to see him. In all his life and unlife, he didn't think anyone had ever been so happy just to have him around.

He wrapped his arms around her tight for just a moment. "What have you been up to today?" he asked as the embrace ended and she dragged him into her room. It was a bit… odd being in here, what with Buffy's bed taking up so much space. How much he'd longed to share that bed with the girl herself. But now she was gone and…

Spike sat down, fancying he could feel the weight of that golden girl lying on the mattress behind him.

"Willow took me shopping," Dawn answered, not sure how enthusiastic she should be. Would Spike be hurt that she and Angel were getting along now? Because they'd seemed to really be sort of friendly last night. "Angel gave us some money so we could get summer clothes and stuff."

"Did he now?"

Gosh. He seemed sort of like he might be upset, so Dawn did her best to explain things. "I mean that's why we're letting him live here, right? So he can pay for things."

When he saw the look of guilt and fear in Dawn's eyes, Spike hated himself for putting it there. His Niblet shouldn't feel badly for accepting some pressies – or even for getting on well with his sire. "He's all right for a poof," Spike offered with a bit of a smile. "Bought me a decent batch of blood, so I can't much complain about him these days."

The way Dawn's expression lightened up in relief was more than worth expressing approval of Angel, even if he hadn't meant it. Oddly, though, he rather had. He'd thought things through earlier, hadn't he? He and Peaches could get along. The fact that he'd immediately told Spike where Dawn was proved that. Yeah, there were still some concerns he had, but if he was honest with himself, he'd admit that if Angel left his relationship with Dawn alone, Spike wasn't about to meddle in his affairs, for all that Willow was his friend.

But speaking of Willow… "Where's Red?"

"Wasn't she with Angel?" Dawn was surprised.

"No. Peaches was alone in the kitchen when I showed up."

Dawn giggled at the silly nickname. "She must be working on the 'bot or something then." Funny how casually she could talk about that stupid robot, but she could. It wasn't Buffy and since it didn't really talk anything like her, it was kind of easy to separate it from her sister.

"Thought maybe she'd gone off to try and patch things up with Glinda."

"No way!" Dawn didn't find _that_ thought funny at all. Maybe it was fickle of her to be so down on Tara, but she was still really angry at her for being mean to Willow about her magic. Because, hey, without that magic, Tara's mind would probably still be drained, or she might even be dead. Besides, Willow was the one who was doing everything to take care of everybody now that Buffy was gone. What had Tara done? Well, besides make pancakes and clean the kitchen and stuff. Willow was doing the important things, though – and even _not_ doing stuff that meant a lot to Dawn that she didn't do. Like the way she didn't try to 'help' Dawn through her grief. She got it, you know? That saying stuff really didn't help and that Dawn _wanted _to feel bad and cry and hate everything sometimes just because it sucked that Buffy was dead. Willow got that and she didn't try to be all 'understanding' and tell Dawn how things would get better.

Guess she'd kind of gotten lost in her thoughts because she heard Spike ask her, "You still there?"

Spike felt a bit badly as Dawn reddened before answering. "Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking for a second."

"'bout Willow and Tara?"

"Kind of. I mean yeah. It's just…" There were tears in her eyes and Spike's heart broke a little bit more.

"C'mere." She sat down beside him and he pulled her into his arms. "I've got you. Spike's got you." Her sobs soaked his shirt, not that he gave a toss. His little girl was hurting, though, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it except be here. Not like there was anything he could say, now was there? No magic words that could fix what was wrong.

Magic. That was more Red's department and if she couldn't think of anything in that line, then it couldn't be done.

Giles stood on the doorstep. Hesitating again. Rupert, old man, you need to find your spine. Buffy would tell him to look behind the refrigerator or something like that, wouldn't she? Buffy – oh how he wished she were here.

It had been so hard, facing the fact that there was truth in what Spike had said about the possibility that he blamed Willow, but now that he had… Well, he'd seen the folly of it. She had done her best. They all had. Buffy's blood wasn't on Willow's hands any more than it was on Xander's, or Spike's, or Dawn's…or his.

His fingers clasped the doorknob, turning it, opening the door, and then he took that first terrifying step through the front door (and oh how strange it was for a man who'd faced numberless demons to fear these children so).

Of course, the moment he walked in the door, he was confronted, not by Willow, but by Angel. "Hello," he greeted him rather frostily.

"Rupert." Angel's tone was every bit as cold. Perhaps they were both finding it difficult to continue the pretense of friendliness they'd been maintaining since the day they'd met.

"I should like to speak to Willow. Is she here?" He all but glared at Angel, daring him to lie or interfere.

So Giles wanted to talk to Willow, huh? Angel supposed he could lie, but he didn't think it wise. Willow was hardly likely to confide in him about their kiss, and frankly, given what a bumbling, careless fool the man had been, he wasn't worried that Giles could create a rift between them, so what was the harm? Though if he hurt Willow again, Angel would make him sorry…make sure he never got another chance. "She's in the basement, working on the Buffybot."

"Well then. I shall…uh…go down and have a chat with her."

Angel said nothing, he simply watched as Giles left the room. He debated following – listening in from the top of the stairs – but he decided against it. His curiosity was piqued, but there was too great a risk in spying. He busied himself with reading once more. After all, if Giles played his hand badly, it wouldn't hurt to be a bit more aware of what was in all these books.

"You're my best friend, Willow. In a totally non-gay way." Giles cringed as he heard the perky voice of that horrible artificial Buffy. It almost made him turn back, but if Willow could endure it, so could he.

"You've made progress, I see," Giles offered as he descended to the bottom of the staircase.

"Giles!" Willow cried as she whirled around. She didn't seem happy to see him; not that he blamed her. She paused a moment before saying, "Yeah. But the obsession with my being gay? Was that Spike or Warren? Because it's really starting to bug me."

"But you are gay," the Buffybot argued and it startled them both. Giles realized that they kept forgetting that it thought it was alive and that it listened to them even when they weren't speaking to it.

"Yes, I am. But since I know that and everyone else does, maybe you could stop mentioning it all the time, 'kay?" Willow patted the 'bot's hand, hoping that Giles couldn't somehow tell that some of her discomfort came from having kissed Angel a few minutes ago.

"Okay," the 'bot replied with a cheery shrug of the shoulders and a toothy grin.

"Could you… go and sort the laundry or something? I need to speak to Willow about something." Giles's awkwardness almost made Willow laugh. Almost.

"Sure. You're my Watcher and you're boring and I have to pretend that you're important." With that, the 'bot turned and went to the hamper, unloading clothes and putting them in piles.

Willow couldn't help it – she laughed. So did Giles. "Dear Lord. How on Earth were any of you fooled by this creature?"

"Hey now! It's not like we were _expecting _a robot double of Buffy. We just thought the vision quest thing made her all wacky."

The tension of the last twenty-four hours seemed to melt away as they couldn't stop laughing. "At least she doesn't talk about sex as much," Willow said.

"You've done a fine job… with everything." Giles's tone turned serious and he hoped she knew he meant it. "I know that yesterday I was… Well, tactless and clumsy. I was concerned… perhaps unduly. It's just that… I can't stop seeing you as the young girl I first met. But you're not, are you? You're a woman now, and a witch. I can't protect you from that, can I?"

"No, you can't," she said. Willow's vision was misty with the beginning of tears as she looked into Giles's eyes. He sort of got it, but not really. He thought he should protect her from what she was. "I understand that you worry, okay? But I'm not the same girl who screwed up and made you blind. I have control and what's more, what I do is really important now. Can't you just trust me? At least try?"

"Yes, I can do that," he said. Willow was about to take a deep breath when he spoke again. "What about Tara?"

"I don't know."

Her face darkened and Giles realized he'd put his foot in it. "I suppose that's none of my business." But the moment was lost. "It's almost time for patrol," he said casually.

"Yeah. I better go change." She turned for the stairs. "C'mon," she addressed the Buffybot, "we have to get ready to head out."

"Vampires of the world, beware!" the Buffybot crowed as it followed Willow out of the basement.

Giles stayed in the dim, unwelcoming room for a moment, then he walked slowly upstairs.

Tbc…


	20. Chapter 20

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twenty)

Tara's steps were tentative as she walked through the front door of the Summers house, unable to stay away from Willow any longer. She hadn't knocked. Should she have knocked? No one ever knocked.

Too late now. But once she saw the faces of the three in the living room, she wished she had knocked. "Hi," she said, trying to smile in the face of the chilling stone that was Dawn's face. When had Dawn started hating her?

"What are you doing here?" The terse question came from Xander, who was looking at her as if she were the enemy.

"I-I was looking for Willow."

"She's on patrol," Anya offered, with only slightly less hostility than Tara could feel from the others. "Oh, and Giles left already, so you'll have to walk back to the dorms. It's not too late, so if you leave right now, you probably won't get eaten by anything."

As she spoke, Anya realized that her last remark could probably be seen as sort of inappropriate and all, given Tara's sexual preference, but luckily no one really thought of Tara that way – at least no one who wasn't Willow – so no one was looking at Anya in a disapproving manner. Now if only Tara would leave, she and Xander and Dawn could get back to the very satisfying game of Monopoly they were playing. Anya had just bought Park Place.

Tara, however, didn't seem to take the hint.

"Look. I know you guys are mad at me, but you haven't heard the whole story and…"

Was she serious? Xander couldn't believe she had the nerve to stand here and expect them to listen to her. Earth to Tara: He was Willow's best friend. If Tara thought there was any chance he'd take _her_ side against his best friend… "No, I haven't," Xander said, cutting Tara off. "But I've heard enough. And I think you'd better leave."

"Dawn?" Tara pleaded. But it was useless. Dawn's eyes were ice. It was all she could do not to burst into tears. She'd thought these people were her friends…her _family_. She'd thought this was her home – the home she shared with the woman she loved with every bit of her heart and soul. But now…

There was only one way to fix this broken life of hers. Tara needed to find Willow, do what she'd come to this house intending to do anyway: convince her to give them another chance. If it meant accepting Willow's magic use (at least for now), then she'd do that – maybe try to find more subtle ways to keep her love on the right path. With a goodbye that went unanswered by all save Anya, Tara turned on her heel and walked out of the house and out into the starlit Sunnydale night. She reached into her purse for her vial of holy water, but it wasn't there. Neither was the stake Willow had told her she should always carry. She'd forgotten to put them both back when she'd cleaned out her purse this morning. Feeling like a hypocrite, she muttered a cloaking spell under her breath. Did she really have a choice, though? It wasn't safe for her to be following the trail to demon-infested areas all alone. She made a vow to always check to make sure she had her supplies from now on and then headed off in the direction of Sunnydale cemetery. If they weren't there, she'd go to Restfield. She had to find Willow.

"Nice job, Spike!" Angel yelled with more anger than Spike had heard from his sire in a long time.

"Sorry!" And he was. Bloody hell. It wasn't his fault that his Fyarl was rusty. Not like he'd had occasion to use it since that night the Watcher'd been changed. He could have sworn he'd told the demon that if he just behaved all peaceful-like and left town without killing someone, no one would harm him.

However, it looked as if he'd said something rather more provoking, since Angel was now getting the worst of it in hand to hand combat. Were there dialects or some such? Maybe that's what had gone wrong. Would have been nice if they'd known a Fyarl was in town and that was a fact. As it stood, none of them had a pure silver weapon on 'em.

The Buffybot was no help either. She threw a few roundhouse kicks, but all they did was piss the demon off.

"Got any ideas, Red?" Spike called out as he jumped on the back of the Fyarl in a seemingly futile attempt to get it off of Angel. Unfortunately, not only had he forgotten important bits of the Fyarl language, but the Fyarl secret weapon as well. The moment he was thrown from the bastard's back, it turned around and…

"Bloody hell!" Spike screamed as he was covered from the shoulders down in grotesque mucus that hardened and immobilized him in a matter of seconds.

Angel hated to admit it, but he was experiencing the kind of fear he didn't like – the kind that made him feel vulnerable and helpless. He was facing off against a demon with a potent (and disgusting) weapon and he had no idea how to kill it. Still, he had to try. Beheading was a possibility, but with some species it was either worthless or caused them to sprout extra heads. Still, what other choice did he have? He raised his axe in time to hear Willow cry, "Argentum," and with one swipe of a weapon suddenly transformed into silver, the ugly demon's head came clean off and it fell to the ground – promptly dissolving into goo. Angel stared at his axe.

"Silver's the only way to kill them," Willow offered as she hurried to Angel's side. Not for the first time, she wondered if Fyarl were related to werewolves somehow or if maybe silver just had some sort of magical quality that gave it efficacy against a wide variety of demonic species. She felt Angel's arms as they wrapped around her and pulled her close.

What was Oz doing right now? Should she try to find him – let him know that Buffy was dead?

She didn't have a chance to ponder the subject further as a cry from the Buffybot brought something important to her attention. "Oh my God! Spike! You're all trapped! You can't take me in your manly arms and…"

"Spike!" Willow exclaimed – cutting off the 'bot's near-ramble into the land of inappropriate conversation. She suddenly realized that the Fyarl's death hadn't actually fixed the damage it had done. She thought for a moment, closed her eyes, and intoned, "Solutum." Phew. The hardened mucus encasing Spike disappeared. Now if only she could make the Buffybot's sexual obsession with Spike vanish as easily.

Angel's arms were still around her as he whispered, "You're amazing." She wanted Angel to let her go – she couldn't get the kiss out of her mind – but she didn't want to make a scene in front of Spike.

"Glad you're on our team, Red," Spike said as he got up.

"That makes two of us," Angel added softly. Because Spike was right and he was grateful to him for saying what he did. Those were the words Willow needed to hear. After all, the Fyarl would never have been defeated by any one of them alone.

"You're a very good witch," the Buffybot chirped.

"Yes, you are," Angel agreed, not letting go of Willow. Power became her – especially mixed with the innocence and sweetness she never seemed to lose no matter what she endured. He couldn't help himself – and no, he didn't care that Spike was here. Turning Willow so that she was facing him, he leaned down and kissed her.

Tara heard the Buffybot's voice and knew she was in the right place. It sounded like Willow and the others had just defeated something. Good. That meant that Willow could talk to her. And yeah, okay, Angel would be there, but Tara was not going to back down. She and Willow were going to talk.

Making her way through the thick of the trees, she steeled her resolve… and then she saw…

Angel.

Kissing Willow.

In that single moment, Tara Maclay's whole world collapsed into ruin. It was over, wasn't it? Angel – evil, horrible Angel – had won.

Glad that her cloaking spell meant that neither he nor Spike would ever know she had been there, she turned and ran away as fast as she could.

The feel of Angel's lips against hers was as distressing as it had been before. Part of her enjoyed it and that only made it all so much worse. She felt as though she was robbing Buffy's grave. She felt as though she was betraying Tara.

Spike's voice forced Angel to let her go. "What's this then?"

"Isn't Willow gay?" the Buffybot asked. Spike ignored her. He didn't give a toss about Willow's sexual preferences but he was well and truly shocked to see her in Angel's arms. He'd already known his sire had feelings for the girl, but things appeared to have transformed in a rather astonishing way in a rather short amount of time and Spike was… curious, and a bit concerned – not that he thought Willow was a hormone-crazed moron who'd hop between the sheets with Angel or anything.

"It's…" Willow was looking around helplessly as she took a step or two away from Angel and the expression of shame and guilt on her face raised a whole bunch of new questions in Spike's mind, especially since it bore no relation to the almost smug satisfaction that shone from Angel's countenance.

Spike decided to take pity on her. "None of my business," he said, finishing her sentence. He shrugged off his concerns and affected a thoroughly businesslike expression. "Just thought we ought to take another run through the area, make sure there's no other nasties afoot. Fyral are usually pretty solitary, but you never know."

Willow was almost impossibly grateful to Spike for letting her off the hook so easily. How, after all, could she explain what was going on with Angel when she did not understand it herself?

"Knock, knock!" the Buffybot suddenly said. Oh goddess. Willow had forgotten to work on that.

"We're not in the mood for jokes right now, okay?" she said.

The 'bot pouted. "But we just killed something and my program clearly states that…"

Spike put his hand over its mouth, much to Angel's relief. He was already sick of the stupid creature. "You're right. We should do another sweep. Then we can probably call it a night." His eyes were on Willow. The blush that still tinged her cheeks was fetching, though he wished there wasn't guilt at the root of it. When they got home, once Dawn was in bed, they'd talk.

"Can't I tell my joke?" the 'bot whined. No one answered as they set out to do another turn around the graveyard.

Out of breath and eyes full of tears, Tara knocked on Giles's door. She'd made up her mind on the way here and while she wouldn't normally trust a decision made hastily under emotional and physical stress, her instincts (which spoke in a voice that sounded achingly like her mother) told her that this time it was the right way to go. Sleeping on it would only result in her talking herself out of what was best for her.

The door opened and she could see the surprise on Giles's face. She waited for him to step back and she walked into his apartment before he even invited her. "I'm leaving," she said. No preamble. No polite small talk. "I n-need you to go with me to get my things from… from the dorms and from the house. And then d-drive me to the bus station." She was mortified at her own lack of tact or manners, but she was too upset to even think straight, let alone hem and haw and ask politely for what she needed – which was whatever it took to get out of Sunnydale by morning. She'd worry about where she was going when she got to the bus station she guessed.

"I -" Giles paused – stunned and not quite sure what to say. Tara was perspiring and clearly short of breath, as if she'd run all the way here, and she was clearly upset. Why was she so desperate to leave town? "Of course I'll assist you in… But my dear, why are you in such a hurry?"

Her eyes were wide and full of pain and as he gazed into them, Giles felt a frisson of terror and foreboding go up his spine. Did he truly want to hear the answer to his question?

Should she tell him? Tara wasn't sure. Her mother had often told her never to act in anger, that even the right thing done from a spirit of spite and rage would turn out wrong. Was she angry? Or was she just hurt and betrayed and lost? If only her mother was here to guide her. "Everyone hates me," she said, and that was true enough. "Xander, Anya…even Dawn. There's no place for me here anymore. Willow…"

"Surely you and she will get past this," Giles interjected.

"We won't. I know that now. It's… It's over. I can't stay here. I c-can't see her at the Espresso Pump or on campus. It would hurt. And I can't… I can't hurt any more than I'm already hurting. Do you understand?" Those last words were closer to begging than Tara had ever thought she'd come.

She hadn't answered him at all, but he wasn't going to force her to share whatever painful thing had precipitated this. He felt partly to blame, rather reversing his feelings from earlier. He had certainly never intended to be part of this terrible tragedy – and that was what this was. Willow's relationship with Tara had been such a beautiful one once. "All right," he said gently, reaching out and putting his hand on Tara's shoulder. "I'll take you wherever you'd like." With that, Tara began to cry and Giles awkwardly put his arms around her and let her pour out her grief and loss.

He was going to miss her, he realized, despising himself for not having spent more time with the young woman, for not having truly seen her as a person in her own right instead of just Willow's girlfriend until now. That insight made it easier to accept why she was leaving, however. Disturbingly, he began to wonder just what place there was for _him _anymore. If he weren't so concerned about Angel's presence… There was that chill up his spine again. No, unlike Tara, he couldn't leave.

"Thank you," Tara said once she'd composed herself. "I-I'm sorry I was all… You know, all demanding and everything. I was just…"

Giles stopped her words with a gesture and a kindly smile. "You have nothing for which to apologize, my dear."

Indicating the door, he followed her to it and then out of the apartment to his car. This was it, wasn't it? Tara was really leaving. She wondered for a moment why she didn't start crying again, but she figured maybe she should enjoy the break. There'd be more tears later. Plenty of them.

Willow, Angel, Spike, and the Buffybot came through the door only to encounter four very serious – and surprised - faces. "Hey," Willow greeted them. "What's up?" She wanted to ask why Giles was back, but she was cut off by the man himself.

"Tara is upstairs. She wanted to get the rest of her things. We weren't… We didn't think you'd be back so soon."

"I wanted to go up with her, but Xander doesn't think she'll take anything of yours," Anya said.

Willow had no idea how to react. Giles was both uneasy and stern; Xander looked like he was waiting for her to collapse.

Tara was getting the rest of her things.

Oh God. It was over, wasn't it? Without saying a word to the others, she bounded up the stairs.

"Tara?" her voice was soft, but it startled her girl, who whipped around and dropped the handful of t-shirts she'd been holding.

"Sorry. I thought I'd be done before…"

"You were just gonna take all your stuff without telling me?" Tears began to fall without Willow even realizing they were there. "I thought… I just thought we needed a break, but… You're leaving?" This was dumbfounding and Willow had no idea what to do. Part of her wanted to drop to her knees and beg Tara not to go.

Oddly, it was her earlier recollection of Oz that stopped her from doing that – would she be making such a desperate plea simply because she didn't want to watch another van pull away into the darkness?

But she loved Tara – she did. For all that she didn't trust her, she did love her. Tara, though – it was obvious she didn't love Willow back. Guess it had taken space for her to realize that.

"I love you," she said softly. "If this is what you want…"

It was all Tara could do not to slap Willow's face. She'd never, ever in her whole life wanted to hit someone before, and definitely never someone she loved, but she wanted to hit Willow. How could she stand there and say she loved Tara, to act is if all of this was Tara's idea? But then she got caught in the ocean of Willow's eyes, the powerful undertow pulling her further into the depths and she saw…

Goddess – was it wishful thinking?

Her mind took her back to the cemetery and she realized it didn't matter, not what she felt and not even what Willow felt. It wasn't enough.

She was completely unaccustomed to what she supposed some people might call selfishness and it felt strange and painful, like a brand new skin that was still tight and unfamiliar, but she knew it was right. More than even a moment before, she knew this very second that she had to leave, had to make her own way somewhere else. A long time ago, she and Lacey, the first girl she'd ever loved, had talked of going to San Francisco. Parts of the memory stung - watching Lacey leave her for some jock and the chance to fade into the safety of the 'normal' world – but the dream… that was still floating in the ether like a brass ring waiting just for her. At least now she had a destination.

"I'm leaving. Not just here. I'm going away." Turning her back on Willow, she picked her shirts up from the floor, grabbed the rest of her things from the dresser, and shoved them into the box she'd gotten from the basement.

"Tara?"

"Goodbye," was all Tara said as she hoisted the box and pushed past Willow and out into the hall.

"I love you," echoed in her ears as she hurried down the stairs.

"Let's go," she said to Giles, who looked a bit nonplussed, but hastened to take the box from her and follow her out the door.

"Are you all right?" he asked as they got back into his car and drove towards the dorms. Tara didn't answer. She wondered again if she should tell Giles about what she'd seen. The more she thought about it, though, the more she felt it would be a bad idea. Giles would confront Willow immediately and it would just end up widening the rift between Willow and the one person who really did have her best interests at heart. No, she'd let Giles rebuild his bond with Willow, be there for her, get her to trust him again. Then he'd see what was going on and be able to help.

Because even though she hadn't said the words to Willow when she left, the emotion she felt was deep and real despite her silence. She loved Willow with all her heart – she always would.

It just wasn't enough, was it?

Willow sat on the bed, wondering whether or not she should cry or go downstairs and talk to the others when, to her surprise, Xander walked into the room. "She's gone," he said superfluously.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that." The words sounded harsher than she meant, but she didn't have the emotional wherewithal to soothe Xander's feelings.

"I'm sorry," he said, sitting beside her and putting his arm around her shoulders. "I hate her, you know. For doing this to you."

It had been a lot longer than she wanted to admit since she'd felt – really felt – like Xander was her best friend…but she felt it now. "I appreciate the thought," she said. "But the break was my idea. She just came up with the whole 'permanent' part."

"I still hate her," Xander replied, and he meant it. He was sick of people hurting Willow – and thanks, but he actually hadn't forgotten that he had been one of those people more than once.

He felt the weight of Willow's head against his shoulder and he stroked her hair. There were words he should be saying right now, but he wasn't smart enough to think of them. Luckily, Willow didn't seem to mind. She just sat silently beside him with her head on his shoulder.

She didn't cry.

Maybe, what with Buffy being dead, she didn't have any tears left for Tara.

Tbc…


	21. Chapter 21

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twenty-One)

The whelp was upstairs with Willow; Demon Girl was in the living room with Dawn; the Buffybot had been shut down and left in the basement; and Spike was out here in the backyard with Angel, trying to figure out how best to broach the subject of what had happened in the cemetery. It might well explain why Glinda was scuttling out of town, but still…

"So… You and Red. Things have changed a bit, I see." Even he couldn't believe his own tact and reticence. What the hell had this chip done to him anyway?

Angel's eyes were unreadable and he said nothing. Not much of a surprise there; his sire had been inscrutable since his arrival in Sunnydale. Spike should have paid more attention to Dru's babble that last time he saw her, shouldn't he? There might have been clues. Guess listening was one of those skills he should have spent more time cultivating.

"Things have changed, yeah," Angel finally said. Helpful, that… not.

Bloody hell. Spike was starting to think in that ridiculous argot the Scoobies all spoke. Just great.

"Bit dangerous, isn't it?" And again, why the devil was he being so bloody deferential and tentative?

The low chuckle he heard from Angel raised the hair on the back of his neck. "The curse isn't quite as restrictive as we used to think."

Spike was trying to think of how to ask what that meant when Angel unexpectedly obliged him with an explanation – an explanation that stunned him speechless: "I slept with Darla. And I still have my soul."

Giles stared out at the road ahead, distracting himself with the way the road looked as it was illuminated by the headlights. There was a significant difference from the way it appeared in natural light, wasn't there? And then of course there was the fact that the world outside of Sunnydale – even just by a mile or two – was always so different as well.

Tara sat beside him, quiet as usual, only it didn't seem normal at all. She was tense and radiating waves of pain. Rightly or not, Giles couldn't help but feel that part of the blame was his, not that there was anything he could do about it now. "You were…" He hated himself the moment he opened his mouth. "I was about to say that you were the best… But I suppose it's rather tactless of me to say anything at all. I apologize."

"It's okay," she said softly, though her eyes gave the lie to her words. She breathed deeply as the train station came into view. "I thought…?"

Giles did his best to smile. "The train will be infinitely more comfortable than that purgatorial Greyhound bus. And it's far safer for carrying all your belongings." He saw the look on her face and hastened to reassure her. "Don't worry about the cost. I'm paying for your ticket."

"Thank you." There were other things she wanted to say, but making her tongue work was difficult, especially since she was afraid of accidentally saying things she didn't want to say at all.

She just kept breathing as Giles parked the car. "I'm going to fetch a cart for your things," he said. And she waited. It wasn't long at all before he came back. It hit her then, as she was putting her meager possessions – four boxes and a suitcase – on the cart… She was leaving. It was real.

Never again was she going to see Willow. Never, ever again. "Take care of her, okay?" she choked out to Giles at the ticket counter. It was 11:17 PM. Those words were the last ones Tara Maclay spoke before she got on the train twenty minutes later.

Silence had ruled the backyard for several long moments as Spike tried to process what he'd just been told. "Guess Darla somehow failed to mention that to Dru," he said at last.

"You've talked to Dru?" Angel seemed surprised. Good. Turnabout was fair play.

"Yeah. She came to town a while ago. Wanted me back, it seems. Nice job setting her on fire, by the way. The scars hadn't gone completely. Looks like you haven't forgotten how to do real damage." There wasn't a trace of sarcasm in his tone and he wondered what exactly he meant. Funny thing not to understand your own words.

"She and Darla needed to learn their place," Angel said with a shrug of his shoulders. He fought against appearing too curious but he itched with the need to know what had happened to abort the reunion. If she wanted Spike back, why wasn't he…?

"I offered to stake Dru," Spike said softly, as if there were no one there and he was talking to himself. "To show Buffy that I cared… that I loved her. But she said I couldn't love. Because I didn't have a soul." He turned to Angel, eyes aware now and filled with resentment. "Because I wasn't _you_."

What was Angel supposed to say to that? He decided to chance the truth. "She was wrong."

"Know that, don't I? I loved her with everything I am. I loved her more…"

"…Than I did." Angel's decision to stick with honesty – had it been a mistake? He wasn't sure.

"Can't wrap my head around you admitting that," Spike said.

"Maybe I can't either." His eyes locked on Spike's and held them. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I never let her go. I don't think I knew… not until she was gone."

Words. They shouldn't have meant a damn thing.

Somehow, though, they did, and Spike found himself softening towards Angel. For a split second he tried to fight it, but there it was. When all was said and done, Angel was family, wasn't he? And he meant everything he said, that was plain. Still, there was Willow to consider. She wasn't family, but…

Or maybe she was. She'd trusted him and that meant a lot. He owed her at least some sort of care. "What about Red?" he asked. "Where does she fit in? Because if you've edged her girl out of the way just so you can grab a no-strings shag or two…"

"I love her."

That one was a lot less of a shock than the fact that Angel had shagged Darla, and not just because of the curse. It was easier to imagine someone loving Willow than shagging Angelus's sire. Spike had more than a few bitter memories of the days after Angelus had got his soul back. Frankly, he was sorry he hadn't been there to watch Angel set Darla on fire. He might have enjoyed toasting some marshmallows over her crisping skin.

Wait… hadn't he heard Xander say something once about Red doing that very thing over demon corpses? Strange that he had anything in common with the chit, but it did make him understand why he felt a bit protective of her.

What would Buffy think, though, if she knew that her one true love had fallen tail over teakettle for her best friend?

Angel could tell what Spike was thinking. "I never meant for this to happen," he said, his tone serious and the words as true as the grave where Buffy lay. "It just…"

"Yeah. Guess I know what that's like." There were an honesty and a fellow feeling in Spike's tone that were both surprising and not. Spike certainly did know what it was like to fall in love with someone unexpected – he couldn't imagine that his boy had fallen for Buffy without one hell of a fight – but to have him just admit that the two of them had something in common with such calm…

"What I said… about Buffy. I meant it."

"I know."

Something important had just happened; Angel could see that. What it would mean in the future, Angel could only imagine, but it seemed one more element confirming that he was where he was supposed to be.

Spike spoke again. "I love her, you know. Always will, I suppose. Not sure I understand why you don't. But… Guess I'm glad."

What was Angel supposed to say to that? Because while he accepted and believed in Spike's love for Buffy… He wasn't sure what to make of all the tangled thoughts he had about the girl he'd once thought was the center of his world. The truth was that, looking back, he didn't think he'd ever loved her as much as he'd told himself he did.

There were questions he had now. Questions about his soul and just why he'd lost it.

It wasn't hard for Spike to tell that Angel was lost in thought. Not the newest thing in the cosmos - brooding wanker.

Funny how the snide words meant something different than they used to. And no, they weren't affectionate now – never that – but maybe they were a touch less venomous. At any rate, he found himself reassuring his sire. "I'm pretty sure Niblet will understand. She loves Willow, after all. Wants her to be happy. Be a good idea for you two to stay discreet for a bit, though."

Angel was torn – on the one hand, there wasn't much to be discreet _about_ just yet, but on the other hand, there soon would be. So no, there was no need to tell Spike that Willow hadn't exactly declared her feelings for him yet. Instead, he simply nodded. "Dawn's a good kid." Maybe that was a _non sequitur_ but it seemed to be the handshake that closed a deal whose details were a bit fuzzy but which was significant for reasons he'd understand later, he was sure.

"We should go in," Spike offered after a long moment. "Dawn's gotta need better company than Anya."

Angel snorted with mirth and let Spike lead the way back inside. They had settled things. One more piece was firmly in place.

Xander felt like they had sat without talking forever. It was weird. Willow was always so… and really so was he. But now it was like neither of them knew what to say. It made him feel guilty. If he hadn't been so focused on Anya, maybe Willow would feel comfortable talking to him. "I'm sorry," he said. He knew he'd said it softly, so why did it feel like he'd yelled, as if the words were bouncing back off the walls and hitting him in the head, kinda like when they played dodgeball in gym class?

"What for?" she asked, lifting her head from his shoulder. She was talking, and that was good, but he missed the contact. Guess it was always about trading, huh?

"For not being here. For letting you handle everything alone." He didn't just mean the way her relationship with Tara had collapsed and he hoped she knew that.

"It's okay," she said in that maddening Willow way.

"No, it isn't. I should have been around. And don't even try the Resolve Face thing or the 'you were grieving' thing." One advantage to her facing him now? He could see how shocked she was. Should he be amused or be hurt or hate himself for how shocked she was that he had this much insight? He'd choose later. For now, he had more to say while he could still pull this much maturity out of a Xander he'd always thought was too accustomed to being Doughnut Boy to have bothered with growing up. "You've got grief, too. But you've also had to take care of Dawn and put up with Dead… I mean Angel." There was a bit of a chuckle brought on by the way her eyebrow rose when he corrected himself, but he kept on. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't around when things were going bad with Tara and I'm sorry that all I've really done has been some babysitting duty. Because I know I don't say this enough – or at all anymore – but I love you, Will. I do."

Willow was in tears and she could barely see Xander's face through the fog of emotion made liquid. "I love you too." It felt good in a way that made her ache to be this close to him. She had truly believed they'd never have this again. And yeah, okay, she'd just lost Tara forever and that still hurt, but as bandages went, this one went a long way towards stopping the bleeding.

"I'm gonna be around a lot more often. I promise. And not just when you need to go do stuff or patrol."

"I know." She did know. You could feel stuff like this and she knew that sitting next to her was the Xander she'd known when she was a little girl who'd just broken a crayon, when she and Jesse and Xander stood alone against the cruelty of the popular kids, when her parents were gone and she was scared to be in the house all alone. She laid her head back on his shoulder. "Thank you," she whispered.

After a few more minutes, she got up. "We should probably go downstairs. I'm pretty sure everyone's wondering what happened to us by now."

Xander nodded and got up, taking her hand. It occurred to him that there was stuff he hadn't asked about – like how exactly everything had gone from arguing about magic to Tara leaving town, and also stuff he was sort of wondering about Angel but wasn't quite sure how to put into words that wouldn't make Willow think that this was still the old Angel-hate from years ago. But there'd be time for all of that, right? Not like anything was going to happen between now and when he saw Willow again, especially since that would be tomorrow.

He and Willow headed downstairs. Like she said, the others were probably getting restless.

The house was still, the weird kind of still that felt close and made Dawn feel as if her bedroom was the whole world. Xander and Anya and Spike had gone home a little while ago and Willow and Angel were probably talking, so Dawn sat alone on her bed staring at old photos. They were of her and Buffy and Willow and Tara at the beach – a real day, one when Dawn was actually here and not off being a mystical ball of energy. They all looked so happy. Dawn couldn't even recognize herself. She traced the curve of her smile, hoping maybe she would figure out how to make her mouth do that again someday. Because yeah, okay, she had smiled since Buffy died, but it wasn't the same.

What if it was never the same? What if she got older, got old, _died_ without ever being that happy again?

Was this how Willow felt right now? Was she feeling this lost and alone and sad? Was she wondering if this was as bad as it was going to get or if the universe would find a way to make it even worse?

She thought about that, about the thought that maybe she'd already been the happiest she would ever be and that from now on it was all downhill. If she'd been alive, really alive, for all the fifteen years she was supposed to have been here, she thought maybe she'd think about suicide now, but she hadn't. She hadn't even been alive for a year. That made killing herself seem stupid and pointless, like a baby hanging itself from its crib or something. Not that a baby could actually do that, at least not on purpose, and… Oh gosh, she sounded a lot like Willow, at least in her head. Guess that meant that she was sort of related to her now, huh?

Weirdly, she realized that thought made her smile. She felt the contours of her mouth with her fingers. It wasn't quite the same… but it was closer than she thought it would be.

There was hope. There was really hope. Tomorrow she'd tell Willow; let her know that someday things really would be better. Maybe not tomorrow, or even next week, but someday.

The knock at Willow's door was soft, but not so soft she couldn't hear it. "Come in," she said. She figured it was Angel. She wasn't wrong.

"Hey," he said. He seemed awkward and reticent – everything he should be after what happened at the cemetery – but it felt… off somehow. And could she please just have _one _night off from the wonky Angel-feelings? Please, goddess, please?

Then he closed the door and she wondered about those feelings.

Angel seemed to notice the way Willow reacted because he looked… unhappy, she guessed. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said, his tone low and gentle.

"I know." And she did. Sort of. There were all kinds of hurt and all kinds of things to worry about, weren't there? "Angel, I…"

He sat down beside her on the bed. She should have gotten up. But now his finger was at her lips. "It's okay. I know you're confused."

Confused? Yeah, that was one word. There were lots of others.

The problem was that Angel being near her was… It was just like back in the cemetery. Yes, kissing him was as wrong as wrong could be – and hey, lesbian here... right? – but… She was more than confused, she was completely undone. Because as wrong as it was, it felt… And it shouldn't, because she still loved Tara, who had just left her forever, and the pain was… But that was part of it, wasn't it? Because in the midst of all this loss – Buffy, Tara – it felt so good to be held and to know that someone wanted her. That was another problem, however.

Especially since Angel's lips were getting very, very close. "The curse," she said weakly.

There was capitulation in those words and Angel fought not to smile. Instead he cupped her chin in his hands. "The curse doesn't mean I can't…" He paused, feigning awkwardness again in deference to her sensibilities. Then he went further, paying lip service to respecting the relationship she'd just lost. It was his trump card. "I know you're hurting. I know how much she meant…_means_ to you. Let me help you forget… just for a little while."

When he heard no objection, Angel moved in again and kissed her – tentatively at first, but not for long. Her assent emboldened him and he deepened the kiss, letting her feel the passion he held for her.

She responded. It was the sweetest of all victories. Pressing his advantage, his hands roamed over her body and she moaned as his fingers found her breasts, arching into him. He could smell her need. She wasn't going to stop him. Moving his hands to the hem of her t-shirt, he broke their kiss and pulled the cheap cotton garment over her head.

A voice inside Willow urged her to stop this, that she was crossing a line and there was no going back, but she didn't. The siren song of solace was too powerful for her to resist and she let Angel remove her shirt and bra, her nipples tightening almost painfully in response to his skillful hands. She wasn't supposed to feel this way with a man.

There would be time to worry about her sexual identity crisis later, though. Because right now, she was consumed by the way Angel was making her feel. He suckled at her breasts, taking her closer and closer to that place of oblivion where there was no more grief and loneliness. "Lie down," he said, and she complied, though in a distant part of herself, the panic flared again. Again it was ignored.

He was drawing her jeans and panties down her legs… legs which he then spread, moving between them. His mouth moved down her body, ever lower, until…

"Oh!" She bit her lip to stifle further sound as his tongue found her center.

It was like nothing she'd ever felt before. It was almost like she was experiencing this for the first time. His tongue was cool and sure and the way his hands held her hips, the way she felt controlled and possessed by him… it was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time and she was lost. Sensation built until she felt... swallowed whole by the power of her release.

There was that oblivion she'd wanted so badly – an oblivion of stars and satiety.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered, "too late," but she couldn't make sense of the sounds and form them into words. Instead, she dimly registered the feel of Angel moving up the bed to lie beside her. Then she fell asleep.

Tbc…


	22. Chapter 22

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twenty-Two)

Willow was sound asleep, snoring softly. Angel stared at her, caught in a strange place between fulfillment and frustration. Fulfillment, however, was the more powerful of the two and he focused his attention there, willing his body to relax. His own physical gratification could wait. Not like he hadn't gone a whole lot longer than this without getting any. Being homeless and filthy had really cut down on his sexual appeal.

And of course, there'd been Hell, though it wasn't exactly a place in which you ever really felt horny. It was all about the torture and torment.

Tonight, though, had been torture of the most pleasant kind and while his body might ache for relief, his soul… His soul was soaring high.

Willow had offered herself to him, opened herself up to him physically and given him her trust, and if it wasn't all he dreamt of, it was enough to give him hope of his dreams coming true. Tonight had been the most glorious in recent memory – more so than his night with Darla, for all her tart-trained sexual prowess. He decided not to think about how Willow might characterize it.

Angel lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying what had gone on between them in his head: the smooth pallor of her skin, the taste of her sex, the cries stifled by a lip held fast between her teeth. She was extraordinary, a mixture of womanly sensuality and primal innocence all wrapped up in magic he could feel in his bones as he drank in her release.

That ever-more-mythical reward of redemption, of restored humanity… Did it even matter now? He had what he wanted and he'd still fight the good fight, even without that moth-eaten carrot. It occurred to him to wonder if he even believed in the vague promises made by the Powers That Be anymore.

Had he believed in them before?

Yeah, he supposed he had. Easy to be gullible in an empty room, the hunger for _something_ overriding logic. Still, believing those pipe dreams had substance had at least given meaning to his existence when he'd needed it, so he was loath to scoff at himself.

His thoughts shifted just as Willow's breathing changed, an odd sort of synchronicity, and he found himself wondering how Buffy would feel if she knew… If she knew what was happening in her house. Would she be glad that Dawn was safe and secure with Willow and, yes, Angel, as surrogate parents or would she resent the fact that he loved Willow and was living the life with her that he'd never lived with Buffy?

It would be the latter, most likely. That stood to reason. Buffy had been a Slayer, but she had also been a woman, with feelings and jealousies and insecurities along with the yearning he could well understand to somehow live forever.

Buffy was gone, though, and she saw nothing. If there was a Hell, Angel had to believe there was a Heaven and he was certain that Buffy was far too busy enjoying her eternal reward to worry about the ones she left behind, for all that Dawn and Spike and even Willow liked to think she might be looking down from on high.

What visions, he wondered, were playing out behind Willow's eyelids right now? Were they dreams of what she'd just shared with Angel? Or were they echoes of the life with Tara which had just passed away forever? He supposed the latter was most likely. He couldn't understand why Willow had loved Tara, but he was forced to acknowledge that she had – and that traces of that love lingered in spite of Tara's betrayal, though he was loath to believe it could be more than a mere shadow of what she had once felt.

Angel let his eyes wander over Willow's body, still naked, and he decided to stop worrying about the content of tonight's dreams. He was the one who'd be there when she awoke and soon enough he'd be the star of her dreams as well. That was what mattered. He pulled an afghan up from the foot of the bed and draped it over Willow. She needed the warmth and, if he were going to sleep, he could do without the distraction. Then, lying on his back, he closed his eyes and followed her into slumber.

It had been one hell of a night, hadn't it? Tara turning tail and running away, Angel getting to first base with Red… Finding out Angel had shagged Darla.

Darla. Bloody Darla. Never had understood what Angel saw in that bint. She might be his sire, but blood was no fit excuse as far as Spike could see. She was shallow and brittle and more self-obsessed than Dru, and without any of his one-time dark goddess's fey charm.

Didn't make sense in light of the other women Angel had fallen for either: Buffy, Red… They were both worthy objects of a man's adoration, though naturally Spike felt more strongly in favour of the former.

What was she doing right now? Could she look down from Heaven and see Angel and her best friend? Funny how a short time ago he had wanted that – had wanted her to hurt and hate them both and regret never giving him a chance. Now, though? Now he didn't hate Angel or Buffy enough to want them to be miserable. Now he realized that if he loved Buffy, truly loved her, he'd want her to be happy in paradise. Now he realized that holding onto old grudges was a mistake; that maybe the past was the past and he and Angel were family.

Now he was torn between accepting that his feelings had changed and cursing the chip for making him soft. He'd been feeding on hate for so long…

Throwing himself onto his couch, he turned on the telly. Let's see – was it going to be the old war movie chopped up into incoherence by commercials for bail bondsmen and phony trade schools or the infomercial with the annoying bloke with the bulging muscles hawking some overpriced exercise machine?

He caught a look at the blonde in the background of the infomercial. She looked a bit like Buffy if he squinted hard. Guess his choice was made.

"Xander, go to sleep." Anya hated the nights when Xander stayed awake like this. Yes, it would be fine if they were having mad, passionate sex, but they weren't, which was very annoying. The worst part, though, was that Xander being awake like this always kept _her_ awake and Anya couldn't see the point in being awake in bed when you weren't having sex.

"I'm worried about her, An." No need to ask who he meant, because it only made sense if the person he was talking about was Willow. Not like Dawn was having any problems – well, except for Buffy being dead, but that didn't count because they were _all_ having that problem.

"I know," she answered, patting his arm and trying to get over being irritated so she could be understanding. Because she did care about Willow and it was pretty awful of Tara to run out on her like this. If she were still a vengeance demon, she'd happily let Willow wish for something horrible to happen to Tara.

That made Anya think: Would she have been able to act on behalf of lesbians? She had never asked D'Hoffryn about that possibility. It might have made for an interesting change of pace. Heterosexual women didn't always make the most creative vengeance wishes. If she had a dollar for every time she'd given a man boils on his penis… Hmmm…could she bill D'Hoffryn for that?

"What are you thinking, An?"

"Oh nothing. I was just wondering if I could have given wishes to scorned lesbians back in my vengeance days. I bet Willow could come up with something really exciting and I sort of thought it would be nice if I could grant just one more wish so she could really put a whammy on Tara."

It was at moments like this when Xander knew for certain that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Anya. "I love you," he said softly, planting a kiss on her forehead. "I really love you."

"I know." She kissed him on the cheek. "But it's very nice of you to say it. I love you too, of course."

Xander chuckled. "I know."

"What did you and Willow talk about? I mean, besides the obvious about what a bitch Tara is for abandoning her right after Buffy died and all."

Xander sighed. They hadn't actually talked about much, had they? Well, maybe sort of, but yeah…not really. "Mostly about how I – we – are going to be around more, and not just for babysitting." He resisted the urge to ask Anya if that was okay with her, but there was something else he wanted her opinion about. "An? What do you think about Angel?"

Okay, that was an abrupt change of topic and Anya worried about lines as she tried not to furrow her brow in thought. She would hate to be all wrinkled and old-looking at her wedding. Why did Xander have to do this to her when they were in bed? "What do you mean?" she finally asked. Because, really, other than being glad he had lots of money to take care of Willow and Dawn, she barely thought about him. Well, except for noticing…

"I… Uhh…"

"Oh. You mean what do I think about Angel having the hots for Willow?"

"You really think he does? You don't think maybe he's just…?"

Anya snorted. "He may be a vampire, but he has a penis, and as far as I know, he's heterosexual – though he and Spike probably had sex, that's the way it is in vampire families – and…"

"An," Xander choked out as he put a hand over her mouth. It was bad enough that she'd given voice to his worst fear, but putting images in his head of Deadboy and Fangless in bed together? That was just gross. "I was just talking about the possibility that he's got a thing for Willow. I really don't want to think about anything he might or might not have done with Spike, okay?"

Waiting for her to nod and for her look of intense fury to calm a bit, Xander took his hand away from her mouth. "Sorry," he said.

"Why are men so uptight about homosexual sex?"

"An!"

"All right, all right. I'll stay on the topic of Angel and Willow. I think it's obvious that he has a crush on her, which is sort of sad when you realize she's gay – but maybe that's why. I mean, it's not like he can actually do anything, what with his curse and all, but he's still a man and since all men love the idea of two girls together, he's probably hoping that maybe she'll let him watch. Though come to think of it, with Tara gone… Still, maybe he figures she'll find someone else soon and then he'll get the chance. Not that he will, because Willow's not like that at all, but Angel doesn't know her well enough to know that."

As much as Xander wanted to believe Anya's cheerily sexist hypothesis, he couldn't. He knew Angel – better than he wanted to. He remembered the old days, when Cordelia's shortest skirts hadn't rated a glance. Angel was a man – Anya was right about that – but he wasn't as much of a stereotypical 'guy' as…well…as Xander was.

So okay, Xander was shallow and Angel wasn't, but shallow didn't mean stupid, and unlike everyone else, Xander had never believed that having a soul made Angel an angel. Maybe the fact that every night of his childhood and teenage years he came home to… Yeah, they had souls and it didn't mean much.

But all of this still left Xander floundering. Right now he wished he was more like Willow so he could make with the deep thoughts and figure this out. His soldier memories wouldn't really cut it in this situation – after all, he couldn't exactly march Angel out of…

Whoa. The soldier memories offered him nothing, but the hyena? That was a different story. There was something there… He just wished he could figure out what it was. Something about trickery and possession…

It was gone though and Xander couldn't seem to find it again.

"Everything will be okay," Anya finally said. She was staring at him now, her eyes full of concern. "I mean, it's not like Willow will be interested back and Spike hates Angel now so they won't…do that thing you don't want me to talk about, so yes, everything will be just fine. You'll see. It might even be fun. After all, you hate Angel, so seeing him all desperate for someone he can't have who wouldn't want him even if he could – you know," she made a hand gesture to illustrate her point, "will be pretty cool. Right?"

Pulling her close, Xander did his best to smile. "Right."

"So can we please sleep now? Or have sex? We could have sex, seeing as how I'm wide awake now because of you."

Xander leaned in and kissed his fiancée. Anya might not have been able to help him find the answers, but she was great at helping him stop thinking about the questions. Oh yeah - she was the perfect woman.

It was morning and Willow awoke to the familiar feel of arms around her. Only…

They weren't Tara's arms. They were male arms.

Angel's arms.

That brought the reality of what happened last night crashing down on her. Oh goddess, she'd had sex – oral sex, but still…sex – with Angel.

And she'd enjoyed it.

That was the worst part, wasn't it? Tara was barely out of her life and she'd already headed back to Boystown, which was bad enough, but did she have to have chosen to ride the Angel train?

Oh goddess, could she also have maybe chosen a less sleazy metaphor? Because she couldn't even laugh at her own double entendre. Right now, she didn't find anything funny. She hated herself. This was Angel – Buffy's Angel. Buffy, who would have given anything for what Willow had shared with Angel last night. Buffy, to whom it would have been transcendent and meaningful instead of just the way a confused, sad girl had mistakenly chosen to try to deal with pain and loss and…need, okay?

If only she knew what Angel was thinking. She knew somehow that he was awake, but she couldn't bring herself to move, much less talk to him.

The choice, however, was taken out of her hands.

"Good morning." Angel's voice was low and uninflected. He could feel the tension in Willow's body, knew that expressing the warmth and strong emotion he was feeling right now would be a mistake. Loosening his hold on her, he was rewarded with a soft sigh. As much as he wished that letting go hadn't relaxed her, he was glad she wasn't as tense.

"Morning." Her voice was shy and tentative as she pulled the afghan up from where it had rested just over her breasts and tucked it firmly beneath her shoulders. He couldn't help but find her modesty adorable.

He could sense that she was about to say something, to bring up what happened between them, but something told him that it would serve his cause (_their_ cause) best if there was no discussion at all. "I'm gonna go downstairs, okay? I'm kind of hungry." With that, he let go of her completely, got up, and left the room.

That was…weird, wasn't it? Angel being all casual like that? But maybe that was a good thing. Yeah, Willow decided, the knot in her stomach slowly untying itself, it was a very good thing. It meant that last night was…really just kind of a 'friends with benefits' thing for them both. It wasn't like they were emotionally involved – except as friends, really good friends, the same way they had been before. Too bad that did nothing to take away even one iota of the guilt she felt. She sort of wished Angel had stayed so they could talk about this.

Of course, maybe he felt really guilty, too. Maybe he needed some time alone to deal with what happened because he was having the same kind of thoughts she had been – about Buffy and irony and feeling really bad.

That was it; that _had_ to be it.

Funny how that was…comforting. Really, really comforting. Willow got up and quickly put on a robe. Then she gathered up some underwear and an outfit for the day and headed for the bathroom. She needed a shower.

Giles awoke with a stiff neck and sore back. His couch was not the most comfortable place to sleep, especially not when he was sober, but sleep had hit him suddenly as he was sitting in his living room, fretting about Willow and wondering what Buffy would have done about all this if she were here.

Mind you, if she were still alive, none of this would have happened.

Or would it?

There was no way to know, he conceded, no way at all. Perhaps Tara and Willow would have had the same conflict; perhaps their relationship would have ended just as badly.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose before retrieving his glasses from the table before him. The world might be a dismal and dreary place, but he did still need to see it, he supposed. Getting up slowly, he made his way to the kitchen. If he were going to be of any use to anyone, including himself, he was going to need some tea.

Angel glanced at the clock in the kitchen. It was 8:30 AM. Was it too early to call Wesley? He hadn't been in touch with the man for awhile and that was probably a lapse he needed to rectify.

Deciding to take a chance, Angel picked up the phone and dialed the number of the office.

The phone rang twice before it was answered. "Angel Investigations," began the British-accented voice at the other end.

Angel cut him off. "It's me."

"Angel." Wesley's voice had become clipped, yet somewhat timorous, as if he was afraid that Angel might have gone evil or something. Great. The man running his business was such a damn drama queen. Weren't they over this?

"Just checking in to make sure everything's fine. Cordelia have any visions I need to know about?" He kept his own tone casual and entirely oblivious to Wesley's melodramatic concerns.

"No, no. Everything's quite under control. Fred is still in her room, but she's making progress and as for the visions… Yes, we're handling those just fine. There's been nothing concerning you whatsoever."

Electing not to dig beneath the surface of Wesley's depiction of life in Los Angeles, Angel blandly answered, "That's great. I knew you all could handle things."

He paused and waited for the question he knew was coming. Wesley didn't disappoint. "Will you…ah…be staying in Sunnydale much longer?"

Yes, he was prepared for this, and luckily there was no need to lie. It would be far easier to use the truth to his advantage…at least the truth artfully spun. "I… It looks like I might be needed here for awhile. Giles is… he's taking Buffy's death pretty hard and he's not as much help as he used to be. And Willow's girlfriend suddenly decided to leave town, so we're down a witch. The timing – it's not great. Especially since I found out that Dawn, Buffy's sister… it's too complicated to go into right now, but she's actually a mystical being and that could make her a target. You never know."

"Oh my. I – I can certainly see why you would feel the need to… Yes, well, I – that is _we_- will keep you informed if there's anything here that needs your attention, but in the meantime… Do let me know if you need any help with research into anything."

"Thanks." Angel hung up. That had gone well. Not only had he bought time, but he'd confirmed that Cordelia's visions weren't necessarily his only link to his mission, at least not right now. He was curious about why she was having them when they didn't involve him, but he wasn't going to worry himself about that for the time being. No, he had other things to think about.

He hadn't lied to Willow upstairs, however. He was, in fact, hungry. Before he did any more thinking about _anything_, he needed some blood.

Tbc…


	23. Chapter 23

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twenty-Three)

"So." Willow was fidgeting, tapping a foot, chewing her lower lip. It was strange talking to Giles.

It shouldn't be strange to talk to Giles.

He sat there in his chair, staring into the cup of tea sitting before him on the dining room table. Could he read tea leaves? But that was a silly thought, especially since she'd used a tea bag. She had lost her knack for brewing tea some time ago; she wished she could remember when. "Yes," he said pointlessly after too long a pause. There wasn't going to be a conversation at this rate, just two people making meaningless sounds. There should be a conversation.

She tried again, putting real effort in trying to come up with a sentence. "How… how was Tara?" Maybe that wasn't the best sentence, now that she thought about it.

Giles looked up, though, and then he spoke. "She… I suppose she was as well as could be expected under the circumstances."

Great. He had 'that' tone in his voice – all stuffy and disapproving. Why had she thought conversation would be a good idea anyway? "Breaking up? Her leaving town? None of that was my idea, you know," Willow shot back, keeping her seat with some difficulty. But she knew if she got up, she'd pace and build up her emotions. And okay, yeah, she was thinking about last night with Angel – and what they had been doing while Tara sat on a bus to… someplace. Her guilt might just kill her. But that didn't mean that what she was saying wasn't completely true and that she didn't have the right to be angry. "All I asked for was a little space so we could think things through. None of this…"

"I know," Giles interrupted. He hadn't meant to anger her and he wasn't sure how he'd done it, though that was part of the problem, wasn't it? He seemed to be rather inept at reading her. Before, he never… But this wasn't before. She wasn't a wide-eyed child any longer and no more was he her infallible mentor. She was a grown woman and he was all too human… and all too capable of mistakes. "I didn't mean to imply… I suppose I'm just very sorry it happened at all."

"Yeah, well so am I, okay?" Willow was still defensive.

"I know." He took off his glasses and began to polish them. Oh Lord. How often did he do this? The thought made him laugh and he stopped, staring at the spotless lenses. "I must possess the cleanest eyeglasses on this continent," he said and began to laugh even harder.

As angry and serious and awful as she had been feeling, Willow couldn't help but laugh, too. Giles did polish his glasses a whole lot, didn't he? She giggled and giggled and it became sort of hard to breathe. "They really are," she choked out as she tried to take in some oxygen.

He was the first one to regain control and seeing his expression grow serious again quieted her laughter. When he spoke, that ended it completely. "I never meant… I am so sorry that things have become so strained between us. I know I failed badly…am _failing _badly since Buffy," he paused and she watched as he blinked back tears, "since Buffy died. I suppose that's why I… well, tried so hard to make up for that lapse in such a clumsy fashion."

"You're grieving."

"As are you. As much as I would like it to be, it's not an excuse."

"I…"

Giles shook his head, stopping Willow in her verbal tracks. "You've had to bear the lion's share of the load and no, it's not fair."

"It hasn't been just me," Willow protested. "Spike's really been there for Dawn and…" She had been about to bring up Angel's support – he really _had_ done so much for them – but she was terrified that discussing him right now would lead to Giles figuring out that there was… well… something to figure out. "Anyway, it's really okay. I mean, I appreciate that you want to do more and all, but I'm not all put-upon here. I promise. Dawn's really been super good. She helps with the dishes and she keeps her room clean and she didn't even make a fuss when I told her she couldn't buy these ridiculously inappropriate shorts." It hurt that a part of her felt good that Giles felt guilty for not being around because it was wrong. He really _was_ grieving, and it was a different kind of grief from hers, Willow realized. She'd never been a parent who lost a child, but Giles… Giles had been Buffy's father. Maybe not by blood, but in every way that mattered.

And now she was gone.

"You went shopping?"

"Huh?" Willow had been so lost in her thoughts that she didn't quite hear what Giles said. He was hurt, she could tell, and she hastened to explain. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about Buffy, I guess." At least she wasn't lying.

Giles gave her a soft half-smile. He thought of Buffy often himself, didn't he? "I was wondering about your shopping trip."

"Oh. Yeah. Dawn needed new summer clothes, so we went to the mall and she got some clothes. That's it. Well, except for stopping at the grocery store." It was an innocuous tale and one which gave every indication of being complete. So why did Willow sound almost nervous? Giles felt as if something had been withheld. Was it merely that she had not discussed the source of the funds for the purchases? That was silly, though. It wasn't as if Giles wasn't aware that Angel had to have sponsored their shopping and Willow had to know he knew. How else could they have afforded to buy anything at all?

Deciding not to push, he replied, "That's… I'm sure it did you both good – getting out of the house for some normal, everyday activity."

"I guess."

A long, uncomfortable pause followed. Somehow its silence spoke volumes about just how badly damaged his relationship with Willow truly was. Buffy – how disappointed in him she would be. The pause went on as Giles struggled to think of something else to say.

Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance.

"Hey," Angel said with feigned casualness as he entered the dining room. Giles was here. It had obviously been a mistake to go back upstairs after feeding. He'd fallen asleep and missed some of what was going on in the house.

"Hello, Angel," Giles replied, his voice tight. Guess he wasn't any happier to see Angel than Angel was to see him.

Angel decided to augment that unhappiness a bit. "I talked to Wesley this morning. Everything's fine in L.A., so…"

"You'll be staying here for a good while longer then?" Giles finished, almost biting off the end of his words. Angel fought not to chortle with glee. Rail against your own irrelevance and obsolescence, old man. Soon enough you'll be drowning your sorrows all alone – perhaps back in England. It might be time for you to go home at that.

"I can stay for as long as I'm needed." He deliberately avoided Willow's eyes as he spoke. She'd react if he did and the time wasn't right to broadcast the change in their relationship. "Cordelia's visions don't seem to include me these days and Wesley and Gunn are up to the cases and the demon fighting." No mention of the change in leadership at the agency – he knew Willow wouldn't share that detail either.

Willow's train of thought was sidetracked for a moment by the mention of Cordelia. She still found the idea of Cordelia as a seer kind of odd – plus, that 'lesbo' remark still rubbed her the wrong way. But she couldn't stay on that tangent forever and soon she was back to what really bothered her: her conflicted feelings about Angel staying. And no, even _thinking _about Angel with Giles in the room was anything but of the fun. Add the fact that Angel was also a physical presence right now and the fun factor was even lower.

Luckily, at least from Willow's point of view, a shiny new distraction came with the sound of the front door being thrown open and Anya's voice calling out, "Giles?"

"Oh dear Lord." Giles was taken aback for a moment. He had forgone going to the shop for the day in favour of coming to see Willow, forgetting that he'd given Anya the day off as well. He called out, "We're in the…," his voice trailed off as Anya bounded right in, "dining room."

"Why are you here? Did something terrible happen? Well, _another_something terrible? Because you told me I could have the day off, but when I went to the Magic Box with cake samples for you to sample, you weren't there. So I went looking for you and I finally found you. Here."

"Yes, well… I decided to take the day off as well."

"Because you were up so late with Tara?" Anya accused. "I don't know whether I think that's okay, by the way. She dumped Willow and you really shouldn't take her side."

"It's okay, Anya," Willow interrupted. "It was sort of a mutual thing."

"Pfft." Anya waved her off. "She took off in the middle of the night and she was even trying to leave without telling you at all. You know, I still have contacts in the vengeance world. Say the word and I could probably make it so her breasts will fall off. See how easy it is for her to attract a new girlfriend without them."

While she guessed it was sort of sweet of Anya to want to avenge her, the thought of anything terrible happening to Tara filled Willow with horror. After all, in spite of everything, she did still love her… No, Tara wasn't her girl anymore. But yeah, the love was still there. "Umm… Thanks. But it's not necessary. Really. But it's…"

"Oh, you were going to say 'it's the thought that counts', right? I'm glad, even though I've never understood that one because thinking about money, for instance, is nowhere near as good as actually having a lot of it, but still, it's very nice if the thought of Tara being breastless is enough to make you happy. But if you change your mind, I'll be happy to try and call in a favour. After all, you're practically family."

Willow decided to focus on the part where Anya said they were almost family and not think about the gruesome images Anya's repeated offer created. She got up from her chair and gave Anya a brief, but heartfelt, hug. "I really do appreciate the thought. But I won't be asking you for that favour."

Angel had edged off to the side of the room, watching this amusing scene play out. He was starting to think rather better of Xander's consort – and of Xander, to be honest. While he hadn't seen either of them as anything more than useful nuisances – his past experience with Xander had hardly been of the sort to foster much respect – perhaps they were more than that. Time would tell.

"Where's Dawn?" he asked, deciding to interject himself into the proceedings again.

"She went over to Spike's," Willow answered.

"So I guess that means she won't be back until patrol time." Angel turned to Giles with carefully-manufactured geniality. "It's a good thing you're here to help with the research then. We should probably see if there's anything in particular going on tonight."

The television was on, but Dawn was bored. They were sitting right next to each other, but Spike had barely spoken three words to her since she'd gotten here. "What's wrong?" Maybe it was a stupid question, what with Buffy being dead, but today Spike seemed extra distracted.

"Nothing."

Dawn snorted. Like she believed him. "I know you're lying. You've acted like I'm not even here for the last hour. Do you want me to leave? Is that it?"

Dawn's words brought Spike up short. He couldn't believe his Bit thought she wasn't welcome. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. "Sorry. Just have a lot on my mind, that's all."

"Okay." He could tell it wasn't, though, not really.

"I mean it. I'm always glad to see ya." He gave her an extra squeeze and pulled her head down to his shoulder. "You know you're my best girl, Niblet." She was, too. Now that Buffy was gone, she was the most important thing in all his unlife. He wished he could tell her what was going on in his head, what was taking his thoughts away from her, but no, he couldn't do that, now could he? For one thing, she was too young for the whole story of Angel and Darla and she wasn't ready to hear that Angel and Willow were finding solace in each other.

"You could have fooled me. You were brooding just like Angel used to."

What? "Take that back," he ordered, half-playfully, half-terrified that he was indeed turning into some brow-furrowing twat.

Instead, Dawn pulled away and pouted. "Make me."

Those were fighting words if he ever heard them and Spike's hands were on her sides. Dawn was a ticklish girl and it was easy to render her helpless. His fingers worked the place at the curve of her waist that always left her short of breath and she struggled to get away.

"Stop!" she begged, overcome with laughter.

"Not 'til you take it back."

Instead of conceding, she struggled to get away and fell to the floor, pulling Spike on top of her.

She was warm and alive and the way she felt against him stirred something that shouldn't be there at all. For a brief moment – too brief, not nearly brief enough – the Dawn beneath him was…not the girl she was now, but the woman she'd someday be.

Bugger! He got up hastily and said, "I've gotta feed." Without another word or a backward glance, he grabbed a bag of blood out of his mini fridge and a mug from atop it. Then he hurried downstairs. He needed to be alone for a minute – get his thoughts together.

This wasn't happening. This wasn't bloody happening.

Dawn sat on the sofa, wondering what she'd done to make Spike mad. When a moment or two passed and he didn't come back in the room, she began to cry. Maybe she should leave, huh?

So that's what she did.

The crash of the back door nearly slamming jolted Willow out of her concentration on the latest arrivals listed on the Sunnydale morgue site. "Dawn?" she called out. Her only answer was a teenage blur running through the living room and up the stairs, followed by the sound of another door closing too loudly. Willow looked at the others; they were all as confused as she was. "I'm gonna go see what's wrong, okay?"

Angel nodded and seemed genuinely concerned. So did the others. "We'll keep manning the books," Xander offered as she got up and headed up to Dawn's room.

"Dawnie?" Willow asked as she knocked softly on the closed bedroom door. There was no answer. After a moment of internal debate, she opened the door and walked in anyway. "Are you okay?" she asked, realizing even as she did so that it was a ridiculous question. Dawn was lying across Buffy's old bed in tears. "What's wrong?" she amended.

"Spike hates me."

Okay…huh? That made no sense. If there was anything in the world that Willow was certain of, it was that Spike cared more for Dawn than for any other creature on Earth. "Why do you think that?"

"Because he does." That was so not a helpful answer. Had Willow ever been this hard to deal with when she was young? She had a horrible feeling she had been. Another good reason she did not miss puberty.

"He doesn't hate you." Willow started to sit down on the bed, so Dawn scooted awkwardly sideways to make room. Guess Willow wasn't just going to accept what she said and leave.

"Yes, he does." It hurt to say the words, but they were true. This wasn't some silly, childish misunderstanding. Dawn was old enough and smart enough to know when someone couldn't stand to be around her and that was what was going on with Spike right now. And it hurt. It hurt so much. Because Spike was her favorite person in the whole world – sometimes she even thought she might love him more than Willow.

"Why do you think that?" Willow was right there, all concerned, and Dawn felt so guilty for not loving her best all the time.

"Because." For a moment, Willow thought that was all she was going to get and she was preparing to give up when Dawn suddenly continued. "He barely talked to me at all for like an hour and then I thought things were finally okay but then he just suddenly left the room and didn't come back."

All right. Dawn wasn't being completely irrational – well, maybe a little, but Spike's behavior sounded odd. Of course, she did not yet have the complete story. Not that she was likely to get it from Dawn. She had a hunch she'd gotten all she was going to get.

Just before she thought better of it and realized that she was making a big mistake, Willow asked, "Do you want me to talk to Spike?"

Great job, Willow, because of course Dawn reacted with near-hysterical panic. "No! Oh God, please don't say anything to him, okay?"

As much as she wanted to cross her fingers behind her back, Willow made up her mind to keep her word when she answered, "I won't." She'd already been a faithless friend to Buffy; she couldn't be a traitor to Dawn. "You want me to get you some ice cream or something?" she offered.

"No. I... I kind of want to be alone right now. If that's okay." The last words were almost a plea and Willow leaned down and placed a kiss on Dawn's cheek.

She got up and went to the door. With a "Let me know if you need me, all right?" she was out the door and headed back downstairs to rejoin the research party. But between her raging curiosity about what had transpired between Spike and Dawn and her inner turmoil over last night, she wondered if she'd be any use at all.

Spike sat on the edge of the couch, his head in his hands. Dawn had left and he wasn't sure if he was glad or not, though he _was_ damn sorry for the scent of tears she'd left behind. All he knew for sure was that he wished like hell he had some whiskey. But he'd drunk it all and hadn't replaced it, so he was stuck – sober and sad and full of thoughts he shouldn't be having.

Why? Was it because Dawn was Buffy's sister?

If only it were that simple, right? Chit didn't even look much like Buffy. Guess those monks hadn't thought a family resemblance was as important as blood. Not much different from vampires when all was said and done, were they?

At least he could rightly say that he didn't want to shag her – not yet anyway. No, it wasn't the coltish little girl he wanted in his bed. But what he did want was to lock this girl up, wait for the fruit to ripen, keep her all to himself.

It was too bloody soon for this. Buffy was barely cold in her grave and already he was fancying someone else. What a fickle bastard he was! Dawn had been more right than she knew when she'd compared him to Angel.

Poor Buffy - her body barely out of rigor mortis and the two vampires who'd loved her had proven themselves to be as worthy of a staking as any of the ravenous fledges she'd slaughtered nightly.

Wherever she was, he hoped with his whole being that she had no idea what was happening in the world she'd left behind.

And from now on, he wasn't going to let himself run out of whiskey.

Tbc...


	24. Chapter 24

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twenty-Four)

"I don't think Spike's coming." Willow kept her voice low not wanting to be heard by the others, who were eating pizza in the dining room. It was sort of uncomfortable being alone with Angel, but there was nothing to be done about it.

She could tell Angel wanted to ask her about Dawn but he didn't. Instead, he said, "We'll leave the Buffybot at home tonight. One night without her on patrol won't be a red flag. We'll go talk to Spike, see what's going on."

Uh oh. "I sort of promised Dawn that I wouldn't…"

"You won't be talking to Spike. I will. I didn't make any promises." He had that tone in his voice, the one that said the matter wasn't open for discussion. Willow was starting to really dislike that tone. She wasn't an awkward, naive schoolgirl anymore; she was a grown woman and she was strong, capable, and a witch, to boot. She didn't say anything, though; chalking up some of her annoyance to the very real difficulty she was having dealing with their recent intimacy. Besides, he did have a point. It was important to find out just what the heck had happened this afternoon.

Shrugging, she turned for the kitchen door. "I better go change for patrol. Grab a couple of axes, okay? Just in case there's something other than the vamps I found on the coroner's site." She didn't wait for an answer, just walked out of the kitchen and exchanged a few words with Giles, Xander, and Anya before heading upstairs.

It was readily apparent that Willow was uneasy being around him and Angel felt the pain of that keenly. After what they'd shared, he supposed he'd hoped that a day's thought had made her realize just how _right_ they were together. Obviously it was going to take more time. In the meantime, however, he was genuinely curious about what had gone wrong between Spike and Dawn. He couldn't imagine Spike intentionally hurting the girl.

Soon enough, he'd have answers to his questions. For now, he made his own exit from the kitchen and headed for the weapons chest. They had a job to do and Willow was right – it never hurt to be prepared.

Xander was surprisingly quiet after Angel and Willow left for patrol, but he was thinking and thinking about things that couldn't be solved by his memories of soldier and hyena possession made him feel lost and not all that adequate. Willow used to tell him that he really was smart – just a different kind of smart than bookworms like her – but he didn't buy it. If he was so smart, he'd understand why he had a major wiggins that wasn't going away no matter how much logic he tried throwing at it. A flash of memory came out of nowhere:

_"I knew it! Well, not 'knew it' in the sense of having the slightest idea, but I knew there was something I didn't know."_

Hey! Maybe his brain and Willow's didn't belong to completely different species after all. Because he felt just like that right now – like there was something there and that just because he didn't know what it was, that didn't mean there wasn't and… Oh god! He was babbling. In his head, but still…

This wiggins was a Willow thing, wasn't it? That would explain the channeling of the babbling and the tangents.

Why couldn't it be a Dawn thing? After all, Dawn was upstairs in a teenage temper that she wouldn't explain. That had to be good for a wiggins. But it wasn't. Oh, he was concerned, sure, but it wasn't making him worry that something life-changing was happening that he could do nothing about. Nope, that would be Willow.

But what was he worrying about? Because Willow seemed…fine.

And that would be it, wouldn't it? Because Tara had just left and Buffy was dead and Willow seemed _fine_. It was the dance of the brave little toaster all over again, only less with the alcohol and more with the plastic smile and the spending of way too much time with the creepy vampire guy and not nearly enough with her best friend. Xander needed to do something about that, needed to amp up the understanding and support so she'd realize that he was still here for her no matter what. Because all this coziness with Deadboy could not be healthy.

You know, the moment he thought the word 'coziness', he almost got a flash of something, but then...

"Are you okay?" Anya was looking at him in that almost-kind way she did sometimes and it scared him because he thought maybe she got it. He wished he did, but the thought he'd almost had was gone.

For a split second, he thought about saying something about his inner turmoil, but Giles was here and Dawn was upstairs so Xander lied instead. "I'm fine, An. I don't think the pizza agreed with me, that's all."

"Well, make sure and take the air freshener in with you when you use the bathroom." He smiled and patted her indulgently on the arm, enjoying the look of British dismay on Giles's face. His girl. There was no one like her.

Spike was almost surprised when he heard the knock at his crypt door. Almost, but not quite. Guess he'd figured Red and his sire would show up. He was needed for patrol. What was a surprise, though, was that when he yelled "Come in", only two figures entered his dwelling. No Buffybot. Thank hell for small favours. Now all he had to worry about was what they knew about what had gone on this afternoon. Hell, how much did Bit know? Had she noticed…?

"Sorry," he said, cutting off his own thoughts. "Guess I lost track of time." As excuses went, it was even lamer than the ones the whelp came up with, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do to unsay what he'd said.

But if he'd lost his skill for explanations somewhere in the tangle of Dawn's limbs around his, what he hadn't lost was his powers of observation: Red was standing awfully far away from Angel – barely looking at him either. What the deuce had happened there? Last night they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other.

"We better get going. Willow found a couple of possible fledglings online. The sooner we get to the graves, the better." Angel decided to throw Spike a bone and save the twenty questions for later.

He could tell Spike was thrown by being let off the hook for the time being, and so was Willow, but Angel had a hunch this talk might take awhile and there were at least two vampires who were most likely rising soon. Business first. The talk could wait. "Grab your weapons," he instructed, and with that, he headed back out the door.

Huh? Weren't they going to find out what Spike had done to Dawn to make her think he hated her? Guess not. So Willow all but shrugged her shoulders before following Angel. "Coming?" she called back. Spike followed her and they made their way towards the first of the two likely rising sites.

It was silent for a few minutes and Willow wasn't sure if she was uncomfortable or glad. Probably glad. Not like she could say the only things she wanted to say. Unfortunately, the silence didn't last. "So. The 'bot. She's not here." Spike obviously wasn't enjoying the silence or he wouldn't be stating the obvious.

"No. We felt we could get away with leaving her at home for the night." Angel to the rescue. Willow was grateful that she didn't have to speak just yet; at the same time, she was having loads of new and complicated Angel-feelings which were blending with the old ones into a toxic brew that tasted like sulfur and cyanide. She hated the confusion – the push-me-pull-you of feeling so much warm friendship for someone who also unsettled and maybe even… goddess, the melodrama of even thinking it disgusted her, so she let the word fall away. Not like it was real, anyway. This was Angel. Her friend, the man who'd swooped in and saved the day when Buffy's death could have taken everything else Dawn had left.

The love of Buffy's life.

So lost in troubled thought was she that she didn't notice that they'd gotten to the grave of Sandra Taylor and she kept right on walking. "Oi, Red."

"Oh." She turned around at the sound of Spike's voice and blushed as she saw that he and Angel had stopped quite a ways back. "Sorry," she said as she scurried back to the fresh grave. Sort of luckily, there wasn't much time for her to be embarrassed because, within seconds, a hand emerged from the dirt, followed in due course by its owner.

Some nights, Angel liked drawing out battles, making a real fight out of a tussle with even the weakest opponent. Not tonight. He wanted to get patrol out of the way so they could all talk out what was going on with Spike…and so he and Willow could have some time alone. Reaching for the arm of the ravenous and clumsy fledgling, Angel pulled her all the way out of the grave and staked her before she had time to revel in a single moment of her brand new unlife.

"Well. That was a big lot of nothing, wasn't it?" Spike chuckled. "Weak lot these kids today. Back when I was…"

"You were never a fledgling, William," Angel corrected him, his eyes dark as they met those of the one he'd molded from the day Dru turned him.

"No, guess I wasn't at that." Spike shrugged uncomfortably, turning away. This was a new man, he realized more and more – not the Angelus he'd loved, hated, and feared…not the Angel he'd mocked, scorned, and despised. Who was his sire now?

Angel chuckled slightly at Spike's discomfiture. His boy had changed. There would have been a time when he'd have met Angel's eyes with a look both forthright and sexual – now he'd come over demure. Where the devil had these delicate sensibilities come from? Not that Angel was actually interested in rekindling the old relationship – his focus was on Willow now – but he wondered if Spike regretted what they'd once had, if his old 'up-for-anything' sexual flame had been extinguished by his love for Buffy.

Not the time for abstruse musings, however, as they needed to get to Wayne Hammond's grave. "We'd better hurry and get to the north end. We've got another one to take care of." With himself in the lead, Willow and Spike followed. The patrol was going like clockwork. Stake Wayne, do the rounds in the rest of the cemeteries, then head back to Spike's crypt for a chat.

After that, he and Willow would hopefully have a talk of their own.

The sound of her stomach growling told Dawn she'd been in her room crying for a lot longer than she'd thought she had – so did the fact that her room was dark. How had she not noticed? Of course, now that Spike hated her, her whole world was dark. Was her room like a metaphor or something?

It seemed like everyone she loved disappeared: her Mom, Buffy… now Spike, only he hadn't died. No, he just didn't want her around anymore. What was she going to do without him? He was the coolest, most awesome sort-of-big-brother-except-not-really. If only she could go back and not do whatever it was she did to make him hate her.

Were there spells or something she could do?

She wished Willow was here to give her a hug and be all understanding and maybe even help out with some magic, but she had to be out on patrol by now and…

Oh god! Patrol! With Spike!

Would Spike say anything? Or would Willow end up asking stuff even though she'd promised not to? Because Dawn thought that maybe she wouldn't really mind – anything if it would help her turn back into Spike's Bit.

Her stomach growled again and she turned on her bedside lamp before getting up. She better go downstairs and eat something. As she opened the door, she could hear Anya and Xander bickering about the wedding downstairs. Hopefully there was still some pizza.

Patrol was over. The baddies had been dispatched (Wayne and one extra vamp who might have been his sire) and now personal matters could be dealt with. Angel had thought, thanks to Willow's promise to Dawn, that he'd be the one to take charge of the interrogation, but mere seconds after the door to Spike's crypt closed behind the three of them, Willow blurted out: "Why does Dawn think you hate her?"

What? Spike had to fight to keep tears from springing to his eyes. He'd known Niblet was upset, but hate? His girl thought he hated her? "'S not true," he all but choked out.

"I know that." Willow's tone had gone all compassionate and Spike was gratified by that, but it didn't take away the guilt or the pain. And it wasn't like he could tell her what had gone on, what had _really _gone on. "But Dawn is devastated and there has to be some reason for it. What happened today?"

Damn it. What the hell was he supposed to say?

Of course it luckily occurred to him that lying was an excellent option. Why the deuce hadn't it been the first thing he thought of? Must have been the way he'd gone soft – the way he'd started seeing things the way all these White Hats did and started believing all that rot about how you didn't lie to your friends. The truth was that if you gave a toss about people, you lied to them sometimes. It wasn't pretty and maybe you hated it…but then again, maybe you didn't. Not always, anyway. "Buffy," he blurted out, as if it was an accident, something he hadn't meant to say. "She just… I worry, sometimes – that maybe I'm not the right one to be looking after Niblet at all, you know? Like maybe I'm letting her down."

A second later, he was wrapped in one of those Willow hugs he'd been wont to secretly envy when he'd seen them bestowed on the others. She was a comforting soul, and it made him oddly glad he'd lied to her. "You're not, okay? You're not letting Buffy down at all. Wherever she is, I know she's so grateful for what you're doing – not just for Dawn but for all of us. I mean it."

Spike's answer wasn't an answer at all and Angel was amazed Willow had been taken in. Then again, maybe not. Once upon a time, he'd had a hand in schooling his boy in the subtleties of human weakness, and Willow's weakness was her passion for living up to the standards she truly felt Buffy had set, had exemplified. So Spike claiming that same passion? Yeah, he'd get away without another word. But Angel knew better – and it suddenly occurred to him that he'd known all along what the real truth was, or at least that he _could _have known.

He and Spike would be having a chat, just the two of them, and soon. What better way to facilitate that than... "Come back to the house tonight. You and Dawn should talk. She shouldn't go to bed tonight still thinking you hate her."

Willow let go of Spike, nodding enthusiastically. She was so grateful that Angel felt this way. He'd come such a long way when it came to Spike – and to Dawn, too. "Absolutely." She added her Resolve Face to the mix and was pleased when Spike nodded.

"Can't believe she thinks I hate her. Think she'll forgive me?"

Giving him a quick squeeze, Willow replied. "She'll understand once you explain stuff. I promise. She loves you." There was a flash of _something_ at the back of Willow's mind as she said it, but she was so used to wonky feelings lately that she had no idea if it really meant anything. So she shuffled it to the bottom of the pile of 'things to worry about' and took Spike's hand. "Let's go," she said cheerfully.

Angel nodded, suppressing a small burst of jealousy at the sight of Willow holding Spike's hand. They were friends and she was a physically affectionate person. Angel was going to have to get used to that, wasn't he. "Okay," he said pleasantly, and then he led the way out the door and back home.

"Aren't they usually back from patrol by now?" Anya said. She was cranky and bored and also horny, but Xander had told her they couldn't have sex here since the only two beds in currently unoccupied rooms belonged to other people who would definitely notice if their sheets were changed when they got home. And Giles was here, so the couch was out.

Plus, she hated to admit it, she was worried about Willow, though she wasn't sure why. It wasn't like Willow couldn't handle a routine patrol, what with all her magic and everything, but after 1100 or so years as a vengeance demon, she'd developed instincts that hadn't completely left her when her powers had been taken away. Something was happening, something besides Buffy dying and Tara leaving and Dawn being a big baby and taking the last three slices of pizza – okay, that last part really had nothing to do with Willow, but still… There was something in the air. It might not even be bad, but it was change, and Anya was not a big fan of change.

"I'm quite sure they'll be…" Giles was interrupted by the opening of the front door. "…back soon," he finished as Willow and Angel walked in, followed by Spike.

"How was patrol?" he asked, trying not to betray his irritation with Spike's presence. He knew annoyingly little about what had happened to upset Dawn today, but what he did know was that it involved Spike and that made him an unwelcome houseguest in Giles's book.

"Fine. We got the two vamps we expected, plus an extra bonus vamp, so tonight was pretty much a rousing success, I think," Willow chirped in a rather forced manner. "Is Dawn upstairs?"

"Yes, but…" But before he could finish clarifying that the girl was asleep, Willow nodded to Spike, who almost bounded up the stairs.

"Do you think it's wise? She might be asleep, and…"

"She needs to talk to him," Willow interrupted.

To Giles's shock, and doubtless everyone else, Xander agreed. "She does."

The smile Willow gave him was reason enough to be glad he'd said what he did, but Xander loved Dawn, too. She was family. So no matter how very not fond he was of Spike, he knew that it would help her a lot to patch up whatever had sent her running up the stairs in tears today. Besides, he trusted Willow and if Willow thought this was right, that was good enough for Xander. He looked over at his soon-to-be wife. "We should probably go home now," and he gave a meaningful look to Giles in case he didn't get the point. A part of Xander really didn't want to go - didn't want to leave Willow alone with Angel - but Willow looked tired and part of being the new and more supportive Xander was trying to catch these things and be thoughtful without having to be told what to do first. And yeah, it was also possible that this wiggins he was still having about Willow and Angel had more to do with the fact that he'd been hoping Angel would trip and fall on a stake since the day he'd first laid eyes on him than on any spidey-senses he probably didn't really have.

Anya seemed more than ready to go, practically leaping from the couch, and Xander was glad when Giles followed suit. "Yes, well. Good night. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, surprisingly, Giles was the first out the door.

"Night, Will," Xander said, adding a brief hug for good measure. He wanted to say something more, but he had no idea what it was, so with a caroled good-bye from Anya, he and his girl departed. All the way home, he tried to figure out what he'd wanted to say.

Spike's hand trembled as he knocked on Dawn's door. "Bit?" he asked softly, but hopefully loudly enough for her to hear, "You awake?"

Much to his shock, the door almost flew open. "Spike?" A tear-stained face was shining in the light from the hall and all he could do was grab her and pull her into his arms, dangerous place for her to be though it was.

"I don't hate you, Bit. I could never hate you. Forgive me?"

He felt her nod against his chest and they stood there in the doorway, embracing, for what felt like a very long time. When he finally let go, she looked up at him. "I guess Willow broke her promise, huh? She told me she wasn't gonna talk to you."

"Don't be mad at her. She loves you. And anyway, I'm glad she did. Never meant to make you think I hated you."

She stepped backwards into the room and he followed, then she reached behind him and pulled the door closed. Oh little girl….

Her eyes were shrewd and searching, suddenly glowing with the wisdom of what she once had been. "Did you tell Willow? Why you didn't talk to me? Why you acted all weird and mean and everything?"

Sometimes it was best to lie, and Spike had realized that so well tonight, but sometimes…sometimes you needed to tell the truth. "No," he said, "Not really. I'm pretty sure she thinks I did, but no."

"I guess you're not gonna tell me either." There was that ancient thing, again, far back in the depths of her gaze.

His answer was as simple and true as the truth _wasn't_. "No."

"It's okay," she said. "Just don't ever do that to me again, all right?"

He pulled her into another hug. "Never. Never." And that was true as well.

Tbc…


	25. Chapter 25

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twenty-Five)

Alone with Angel. Nothing awkward about that; nothing at all. Yeah. Just keep telling yourself that, Willow.

"Thanks for the staking tonight," she offered, trying to make conversation. "You got rid of them all so fast. Spike and I didn't even have anything to do." She hoped she didn't sound bitter, because she wasn't. Of course, it sort of helped that Spike had been useless too. It made her feel like she wasn't really useless at all, and maybe it was just that all three vampires were really lazy and easy to kill.

She wished her thoughts would stay focused on patrol, actually, because it worked wonders at distracting her from what was _really_ bothering her: the fact that she'd had sex with Angel. And no, she couldn't very well split hairs about no penetration since she and Tara… Well, they couldn't really do the whole 'interlocking parts' thing, now could they? It had always been wonderful, though.

But then again, so had…

Could she just not be thinking about this right now? Especially with Angel moving closer to her?

Willow was thinking about what they'd shared. Angel could tell from the way her colour was rising as he moved closer. He wanted to reach out to her, but instinct told him she'd back away. He knew he was right when she spoke again. "I… We need to talk."

Angel nodded. It was an equivocal gesture, meant neither to oppose nor encourage.

"What happened… I mean..." Her colour kept rising, the blood blooming like roses under her skin. He could almost imagine sinking his fangs in and tasting it; it took effort to keep his body from responding. "We both… But it was…"

Her inarticulateness was adorable, even as the hum of power that never left the edges of her presence made it seem incongruous beyond belief. Still, he knew what she was about to say and he needed to take control of the direction of this conversation. He cut her off at the jumbled pass. "It wasn't a mistake, Willow. There's something between us. You know it." Moving forward slowly, he had her hemmed in between himself and the wall.

"I…" What was she supposed to say to that? "We're friends," she said, hoping it sounded meaningful and important, because it was.

"Of course we are." But the way he said it didn't sound like a retreat.

She wracked her brain, trying to come up with a really good reason why what happened should never happen again, one that wouldn't damage their friendship or make things more awkward than they already were. And what do you know – there was one. "It's not fair. I mean, I can… You know, but you… I just don't want to take and not…" Goddess. She'd never had this much trouble being direct about sex with Tara. How had she regressed back to high school? Hopefully she'd made her point, but she tried again just to be sure. "I can't let you…you know…satisfy me and not feel terrible because it can't be reciprocal."

Okay, this was a great reason. A compelling and totally honest reason, because Willow really had felt guilty about being the only one who got pleasure out of their encounter. So why was Angel not reacting – at least not the way she'd expected?

Instead, he was right in front of her and he took her hand. "It can." What did he mean by that? Did it mean that she…? While Willow was busy hating herself for being hurt that maybe what he meant was that she couldn't make him all that happy, he continued, "If we're careful, we can be together."

She stared at him, slack-jawed. Did he just not care about what could happen? How could he possibly know something like that? But he had an answer, and it was a shock. "I slept with Darla. And I didn't lose my soul."

Spike stood at the top of the staircase, listening to the conversation between Willow and his sire. Bloody hell. Looked like there was a lot more between those two than kissing, now didn't it? Of course, he no longer had any right to get all morally outraged, seeing as how someone else was carving a place in the heart he'd thought was mouldering in a hidden grave, even if that place was a reservation for a future date. Still, he was surprised Red had dropped her knickers quite so soon.

Then again, maybe he wasn't. She was a bit of a needy thing – not that he didn't understand that completely – and what with Buffy's death and Tara failing her on every front… Yeah, he could see her looking for comfort. And what with Angel so very eager to provide it…

He felt a slight shudder run through him, an odd sensation for a creature so insensitive to the cold. Then again, he wasn't reacting to temperature. It occurred to him – not for the first time – to wonder about Angel's role in shaping the way things had transpired. But this time he wasn't so ready to dismiss some of his more melodramatic fancies. Sure, he'd realized that Angel was quick to seize on every opportunity and turn it to his advantage, but had he had a role in creating those opportunities in the first place?

Oh hell. Did it really matter? Not like he was going to interfere. He liked the way things were. He and Angel were getting along better than they ever had, patrols had become a well-oiled machine, and his precious Bit was provided for. Not like Red was getting the short end of it, either. No chance that Tara was a better shag than Angel, so she was getting a proper seeing-to, and from a vampire who seemed well and truly enamoured of her at that. It had to be better in every way than the simpering sweetness she'd shared with Glinda the Cowardly Lion.

So alright, he'd leave them to it. Turning around, he went to what had once been Buffy's room. It was all Angel now. A day or so ago, he'd have been furious at the lack of any reminder that the girl had ever lived here. Now… Now he wasn't sure how he felt. Not like he was gonna stand around in here and brood, though. He picked up a book he found on Angel's nightstand; _Oliver Twist _was a decent read and he had nothing back at the crypt. Putting it in his pocket, he climbed out the window and made the easy jump from the roof to the ground. He thought about stopping to steal some whiskey, and he might just at that, but he didn't feel any urgency about it. That took him by surprise, what with all he was feeling about Dawn, but it was no bad thing. No bad thing at all. With that thought, he headed away from the Summers house.

Willow was so dumbfounded by what she'd just heard that it came as a shock when she realized she was sitting on the couch. She couldn't remember how she got here, but she did have to admit it was probably good that she was now sitting, what with the numbness in her limbs and all. "You had sex with Darla?" she said. Weirdly, she thought she might have said it before.

Right next to her on the couch, she could feel Angel's leg against hers. There were things she sort of wanted to say about personal space, but now didn't feel like the right time. Other topics took precedence. "I'm… You had sex with Darla?" She was looking at him now and meeting his eyes brought up a whole host of emotions and thoughts and it felt like her head was going to explode from it all.

Angel offered no explanation, simply a soft but firm, "Yes, I did." Oddly, she was sort of okay with that. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear him go into detail. As obliquely hypocritical as it was for her to be angry with him for sleeping with someone who wasn't Buffy before Buffy was dead (especially since Buffy herself hadn't actually been celibate or anything), she still felt a pang of resentment. And then there were her own personal complicated feelings in the mix. While she wasn't jealous (and that seemed almost wrong), she was uncomfortable about Angel's tryst with Darla on some indefinable level.

"Oh," she said, pulling a reply out of the cacophony in her mind. "I just… I guess we all thought…" She laughed mirthlessly. "You know, I can't believe I never rethought that whole 'sex=perfect happiness' thing. Not like that's the way it always is." She thought about Parker and Buffy… no, she guessed she'd been silly for not revising her beliefs about the limits of the curse.

But all that did was make her question why she had ever let Angel touch her. Maybe it was egotistical or unrealistic or both, but she was used to being loved by the people she had sex with – really and truly and deeply. Could she settle for just being safe comfort for Angel?

And how shallow was she that what was leading the emotional charge right now was the blow to her ego at the thought of being just some fluffy mattress toy?

Angel put his hand over Willow's. Her skin was warm and slightly damp – her nerves gave him a sense of control, though he'd be a fool to press it and he knew that. She was clearly unsettled and he wished he could read the look in her eyes. "You made me very happy," he said, hoping he'd guessed the cause of her agitation. There was a flash of… He fought back a chuckle. He'd been right. It did matter to her – the way he felt about what they'd shared. Remaining impassive, he continued. "But with everything I've been through… everything _we've_ been through… I'm not the same. I don't think I could ever experience that same impossible feeling of not being a demon that I did that night."

She was staring at his hand now and not his face. He knew her well enough to know it meant his words had affected her and she was hiding from him. "I have feelings for you, Willow. Last night wasn't some casual thing. Not to me." Putting his hand under her chin, he forced her to meet his eyes again. But instead of saying more, he leaned down and kissed her.

Willow was a sensualist; something he'd never realized about her until recently, but should have. She was a creature of emotion, as well. Appealing to both those aspects of her nature was the surest guarantor of success. He deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms around her, maneuvering her body to fit against his. As vigilant as he was, and as glorious as touching Willow was, he didn't feel any sense of danger.

Maybe it was a demon thing, more than a happiness thing? Because when he'd made love to Buffy, he'd allowed himself to believe that his demon was no longer part of him – that being loved by a Slayer, being allowed into her body, made him a man again. Instead, it had banished the man and unleashed the monster.

Now, however… if he closed his eyes he could smell the acrid scent of burning death from when he'd set fire to two of his own line. He could feel the agony he'd endured in Hell for centuries. In his mind's eye, there was a mirror and it reflected ridges and fangs and eyes gleaming gold and feral, nothing like the mask he wore for the world.

Yet, for the first time since he'd been given his soul, he didn't hate himself for what he was.

He stopped thinking, deciding instead to allow himself the luxury of getting lost in the here and now. Willow's arms were around him and she was returning his kiss. If happiness were enough, he thought, his soul might already be gone.

How had this happened? She'd started out trying to get her relationship with Angel back on a purely platonic and friendly footing and somehow here she was, kissing him – again. Could she blame it on being discombobulated by hearing what he'd left out the first time he told her about Darla? Probably not, since that should have helped rather than hindered her efforts to get Angel back at arm's length.

Arm's length? Ha. Those arms were wrapped around him now and not inclined to let go.

Was this why she'd had such strange, fearful feelings about him from the moment he returned? Had she somehow known there was the possibility of _this_? What was this anyway?

The kiss was quickly getting out of hand and Willow finally found the strength to push Angel away. Thankfully, he acceded to the request made by her hands against his chest and let go. "Kind of the wrong place," she panted. It was, too. Dawn could come in at any moment.

"Do you want to go upstairs?"

A loaded question if ever there was one. Did she? Her earlier doubts about Angel's intentions had vanished. It was obvious that he felt things for her that she didn't feel for him; he'd just confessed to sleeping with Darla; Willow had just ended a relationship with Tara; and there was Buffy – dead Buffy who'd loved Angel with everything she was right to the end.

She should say no, emphatically and finally. She should tell him that what was best, not just for the two of them but for everyone, was for them to remain friends. After all, what would this do to Dawn? How would Xander react? And what about Giles? This could only end badly, right? Was it even fair to Angel? She shivered as his hand caressed her cheek. "Yes," she said softly, and she let him help her to her feet, then followed him up the stairs.

There was a cup of rapidly cooling tea sitting before him but Giles felt no inclination to make the effort to pick it up and drink it. All his energy was being drained by his increasingly depressing thoughts.

He wasn't needed, was he? Or, more to the point, no one _felt_ that they needed him. He'd gone from being at least able to flatter himself that he was held in some regard to being _that man_- old and annoying and an afterthought. No one truly cared what he thought or felt; they weren't seeking him out to help them make sense of the world after Buffy. It was Willow to whom everyone deferred; Willow who had shouldered the burden of leadership. Well, Willow and Angel.

It wasn't that he was jealous, though he supposed he was, to a certain extent. It was just that he knew he was trapped in an oblivion of his own making and he had no idea how to change it. He had serious concerns about the way things were being done – in particular Angel's seemingly indefinite presence as a fixture in their lives – but he could not see any way in which he could even voice the mildest of opinions and be heard.

His mind drifted to the memory of watching Tara board that train. Perhaps he should have joined her. No, that would have been silly, he supposed. There was nothing for him in San Francisco. But the _idea_- yes, that was where the urge to follow her lead should focus itself.

There was, after all, a 'somewhere' waiting for him. A country in which there was still a place for him to resume his life. He still had friends there, old haunts to revisit, a chance to lose his memories, grief, and loneliness in the once-familiar.

But would he be abandoning the children?

He chuckled mirthlessly. Rupert, old boy, open your eyes. They'd all long since grown up, save Dawn – and even she was older than he was if her origins counted for anything – and as he'd just found himself forced to realize, they no longer needed him. It was time, he supposed, for him to walk away, to let them make their own way and their own mistakes. It was time for him to do the same as well, to learn to live his own life again…and to do it better than he had in those days of Eyghon and Ethan Rayne.

Taking off his glasses, he rubbed his tired eyes. It was time for bed. In the morning there were arrangements to make and… and goodbyes to be said.

Rupert Giles was going home.

For a moment, Angel had thought of trying to draw Willow into his room, but the fact that it was closer to Dawn's room than hers would inhibit her, he was sure, so he led her all the way to the end of the hall to the room she'd briefly shared with Tara. The room where he'd tasted her for the first time.

He opened the door, but waited for her to walk through first. A gentleman – and he behaved like one. If only she wasn't so tense now. Still, the scent of her desire was still there and he'd overcome any misgivings she'd formed between their kiss and the journey to the bedroom.

It wasn't a surprise when she spoke; she was always one for words. But what she said was disappointing. "This isn't fair." Her voice was soft and her speech halting, but her eyes were firm and fixed on his. "To you, I mean. I don't…" He stopped her with a finger to her lips.

"I know." Her eyes widened and she seemed poised to continue. Conversation, however, was the last thing they needed. Angel took her in arms and kissed her again, picking up where they left off. It was gratifying that, for all her attempts to talk them both out of this, her response gave the lie to her misgivings.

Good intentions – they seemed to have gone right out the window, huh? Because despite the fact that she'd meant – again – to nip this whole 'more than friends' thing in the bud, here she was in Angel's arms and clothes were going to come off and…

He knew. When she'd been about to say that she didn't feel the same way about him that he did about her, he'd said that he knew. How much more terrible could she feel? Because she couldn't imagine that he enjoyed being a 'comfort thing' any more than she would. In fact, hadn't she just been upset at the prospect of that only a few minutes ago?

One more addition to the pile of reasons to hate herself that she was stacking like firewood in her mind.

"Buffy," she whispered, knowing even as she said it that the name wasn't a talisman against what was going on. Because there'd been Riley for Buffy and Darla for Angel and Buffy was dead and oh goddess, Willow should be crying, shouldn't she? The tears were there – they just wouldn't fall.

"She's gone," Angel said, his voice as nearly inaudible as her own. It resounded in her ears, though, and it meant so many things.

This was happening, wasn't it? Because Angel was pulling her shirt over her head and she wasn't even thinking of stopping him. She owed him, though – for last time and for what she wasn't able to give him now and she had to think of something…

She did. Dropping sort of awkwardly to her knees, she started to undo Angel's pants. It had been a long time since she'd done this and even then she hadn't done it very often but… guys really liked this, right? Even vampires?

Angel's eyes shot wide in surprise when Willow knelt before him, but he soon realized why she was doing this… and he wasn't complaining. Having any advantage was good in the long run. Also in the long run – she'd be happy, truly and perfectly happy. So he allowed himself to enjoy what her guilt compelled her to bestow. There was something about the almost-clumsiness of her movements, in the way she hesitated before taking him into her mouth that was more arousing than Darla's skill had been so very recently and he did nothing to guide her.

At first the 'in-out' slide of his cock was irregular and Willow tried to hide the sound of choking once or twice, but she found a rhythm and Angel allowed his hands to gently cup her head, losing himself in the heat and wetness of her soft mouth. He hissed in pleasure, wanting her to know how very much he was enjoying her ministrations.

He would have been happy for this to go on forever, but he let go of his control and allowed his body to give itself over completely to the ecstasy she was giving him. Stifling a cry, he came, eyes glazed as he registered the sight of her drinking him in. He smiled down at her. The night was far from over.

Tbc…


	26. Chapter 26

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twenty-Six)

It had been so long since Willow had had a man inside her. The sensation was strange and uncomfortable – pretty much par for the course when it came to her and Angel, come to think of it. Still, there was no denying that he was a skilled lover and she couldn't say that she wasn't enjoying it, at least on a physical level. It wasn't perfect happiness, though.

It wasn't what she'd shared with Oz. It wasn't what she'd shared with Tara.

She was sure it wasn't that kind of purity for Angel either. How could it be? It's not like they had what he'd shared with…

...Buffy.

Oh God. How could she be doing this? How could she be betraying her best friend like this?

For a moment, she thought of asking him to stop, of telling him that this was wrong, but how could she? So she stayed silent, willing herself to get lost in the confines of her body, giving herself over to what Angel was doing. It worked, at least for now.

Angel felt Willow tense beneath him briefly. He knew what she was thinking – that Buffy's mistaken belief in the eternal nature of their love had gotten in the way – and he redoubled his efforts to bring her the same pleasure he was feeling.

There was a buzz – an almost narcotic high – in being inside such a powerful woman. It was akin to what he'd felt when he'd tasted her but taken to an even greater level. And if forgetting he was a demon was where the true danger to his soul lay, there was no danger now. Willow touched the truth of him in a way that almost had Angelus forgiving her for everything.

Possession. It was more than nine tenths of the law. It was everything. His movements became more sure, more aggressive; he was taking her the way one demon took another, kissing her to swallow the cries that might wake Dawn.

The sex had become something completely different from anything Willow had known before. For a moment, she was almost afraid Angel had lost his soul, but she could still feel its presence, even as the pain and pleasure threatened to swallow her whole. Were they connected somehow, or was it just because she was a witch? Thought wasn't possible now; her body was riding towards a terrifying crescendo, the crush of Angel's lips against hers making her feel more a part of him than herself.

Then the world seemed to explode into darkness. Everything was sensation and she felt his release inside her as the last of her cries was lost in Angel's mouth and his in hers

When the last wave had passed, she was falling, or at least it felt that way. She was panting, as well, and she realized that Angel had pulled out of her and was lying beside her.

"You're incredible," he said softly. Even if she could have found the strength to answer him, she wouldn't have known what to say. So she closed her eyes and let herself be grounded again.

Staring at Willow's face, flushed with perspiration and the glow of her orgasm, Angel thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful. If what he'd done with Darla had been a glass of water after a drought, this was like his very first taste of fine champagne; it was elevating and inspiring and intoxicating. He could tell from the change in her breathing when she fell asleep. It didn't surprise him. He was tired himself, far more so than he usually was after sex. But this had been intense even beyond what he'd expected. He lay there beside her, letting his eyelids slowly drift closed, and he joined her in slumber.

It was still dark when Angel awoke, but he could feel the approaching sunrise. As much as he would love for Willow to wake up in his arms, he knew that if Dawn caught him coming out of Willow's room later this morning, things would be awkward to say the least. While he'd thoughtlessly but successfully taken that risk once, there was no sense in pressing his luck. Leaving now was his best option. He got up quietly, dressed hastily just in case, and crept stealthily back to his own room.

This _was_ his room now, wasn't it? Though of course, that too would change. The bed was large and comfortable and would fit even better in the bigger master bedroom that Willow now occupied alone. How long would it take, after all, for Dawn to be ready to accept that he and Willow were involved? Because she was already fond of him, as he was of her, and she adored Willow. It would probably make her feel as though they were a real family, knowing that he and Willow were together. It certainly made _him_ feel that way.

Did it do the same for Willow? Not yet, he had to admit, but it would soon. She'd realize that they all just fit – that everything would be better from now on.

Something was coming, something that would bring it all together. He didn't know what it was, but that didn't mean he was wrong. All he had to do was be patient and everything would work out exactly as he hoped it would. For now, he undressed again and got into bed. He was still a bit tired and more sleep would do him good.

It was early in the morning, the sun had risen a mere half an hour ago, but as Giles hung up the phone, he realized he'd managed to turn his whole life on its head before he'd even had his second cup of tea. He was leaving Sunnydale. The airline ticket – one way – was booked. All that needed doing was giving his landlord notice, settling things at the Magic Box, and making some sort of arrangements about his car. He supposed he'd sell it. Shipping it overseas would be prohibitively expensive and at any rate, it was hardly designed for driving in London.

Luckily he had a few days for all this, including, of course, the necessary packing. Oh dear Lord, he'd forgotten about his furniture. Would Xander and Anya want it? A sort of wedding present?

Naturally that reminded him of what he dreaded most of all: telling Willow and Xander and Dawn and Anya of his departure. There was no chance that that conversation was going to be unemotional or free of the sort of displays which would cause him second and third thoughts about his decision. Still, having booked a nonrefundable first class ticket rather made his choice irrevocable… as he'd intended it to do. Because the truth was that this was tearing him apart inside. He was leaving the one place in the world where he'd got it right, at least for awhile. He'd been a part of something more profound than any Watcher had ever been; he'd been privileged to work with the finest Slayer ever born. And now… Now it felt as if the life he'd known was ending forever with or without his acquiescence and that the space he'd occupied was closing up quickly, leaving nothing to show there'd ever been a Rupert Giles in this place at all.

Pouring that second cup of tea, he decided to forgo his original plan to shower and set up a meeting with his accountant in favor of first paying a visit to someone he regretted leaving more than anyone.

He was going to visit Buffy's grave.

She was groggy but unable to go back to sleep, so Dawn grumblingly rolled out of bed and put on her robe before stumbling out of her room and clomping heavily down the stairs, bleary-eyed and hoping that no one else was up yet so she could have cookies for breakfast.

Luck was with her and she grinned as she fished the chocolate chip cookies out of the drawer. Hey, she was having orange juice with them; that was healthy enough. Besides, chocolate was dairy, right? So she totally had two food groups going…oh! And flour was a grain or something, too, wasn't it? Three – three food groups. Totally healthy and balanced and chock full of nutritional value.

She closed her eyes and savored the satisfying crunch, followed by the chocolate coating her tongue. Nothing that tasted this good could possibly be bad for you. She had to be totally right about the food group thing.

Of course, right away she felt all guilty and stuff. And not just because she knew Willow would be upset that she wasn't eating healthy. No, she felt guilty because the first person she worried about was Willow. It wasn't like Buffy had been dead all that long and here she was being all 'life goes on' and stuff when the fact that she was doing the same thing she'd done right after Buffy died should have made her think of...

Was it because she wasn't really human? Or would a real live sister be like this? Would Buffy be this way if Dawn had been the one who died?

She never thought she'd envy Anya for being Anya, but right now she did. Anya had clear memories of what she'd been before. She knew the difference between being human and being… not. She could compare and contrast and she knew what about her was a person and what was a vengeance demon. Dawn didn't have anything like that. All she had was a lifetime of fake memories and thirdhand knowledge that what she'd really been a year ago was a shiny green ball of energy.

What was she like then? Did she have a mind and thoughts and feelings? What did green balls of energy do anyway? Did they watch the world like it was TV? Did they hang out with other balls of energy and talk about stuff? Could they even talk at all?

Who was she? Who was she really? Because right now she felt so much…less than everyone else. She wasn't human, but she didn't have any super powers or anything or even any memories of having them, the way that Anya did. She was like this paper doll in a world full of Barbies.

Strangely, she suddenly flashed back – not to Buffy jumping off the tower instead of her, but to Angel telling her that she was real. Maybe it was weird, but it helped in a way that nothing anyone from Sunnydale said could. Not one single memory he had of her from before Buffy's death was real… But he still thought _she_was. He meant it and she knew that.

She'd been so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't hear the footsteps before it was too late.

"Dawn," Willow whined. "What are you eating?"

Oops. Busted. Again. Just like last time. "I can totally explain."

Willow stood there, arms akimbo, trying hard to look stern and maternal. She remembered Dawn doing this what seemed like a lifetime ago, but instead of seeming like fit of teenage acting-out, this time it was...normal. And _Dawn_ was normal. It was encouraging and Willow wanted to reach out and hug her. Still, she forced herself to maintain a disapproving expression. "I should be canceling your cookie privileges for the next month."

"But you won't, right?" Dawn's eyes were wide in the most patently false innocent expression ever and Willow wanted so badly to just break down and laugh. She had a job to do, though.

"Put the cookies away. I'll make you some eggs and we'll talk about your snack food rights." This was such a welcome distraction from the way she'd felt when she woke up; alone, but with the evidence of last night's activities so very present in the soreness of her body and the need to change the sheets. Thank heavens for hot water and a well-stocked linen closet.

"Okay," Dawn groused. Willow had to smile at her; she couldn't have Dawn thinking she was really mad. Making sure she ate right was part of her sort-of-parental duties. She was taking two eggs out of the fridge when a voice startled her.

"Good morning."

Willow lost her grip on one of the eggs and it fell to the ground, making a disgusting mess – kind of like her life, huh? But there was no time to reflect on literal metaphors. She needed to clean up the egg. Unfortunately for the composure she was struggling to regain as she put the unbroken egg on the counter, Angel immediately came over to help her. "It's okay. I've got it." Her voice sounded overly harsh, but it was too late now. Goddess she hoped Dawn didn't realize something was going on.

"Let me help." His voice was low and kind and she felt terrible for snapping at him. She felt even worse for regretting what they'd done.

"Really, it's okay," she said, more evenly this time. Angel's hand was over hers, though, as she grabbed for the dishcloth at the same time he did. Was she blushing? Oh how she hoped the heat she felt wasn't actually visible. Dawn was standing just a few scant feet away.

Angel gave her a slight smile which did nothing to calm her fears, but he conceded the battle for the dishcloth and Willow dampened it then bent down to start cleaning up the mess of yolk and white and shell.

Dawn stared at Willow and Angel. They were acting weird. Okay, Willow was the one who was _really _acting weird, but Angel was even a little weird too and it didn't make sense. Why were they all awkward and uncomfortable? They were friends. Good friends. They joked with each other and talked about all kinds of stuff and they got along great, really. Even better than Angel had gotten along with…

Oh God! She totally got it – or at least she kinda thought she got it.

She wasn't even mad either, and that made less sense than anything. Because after all, Angel was the big, great love of Buffy's life and she'd pined away for him for years and years, even when she was with Riley. Dawn should expect Angel to be all grieving and lonely and depressed forever, right?

Except she didn't. What she did feel bad about, though, was the curse. Because that meant that Angel could never actually be with anybody, not even Willow, who was totally loveable and deserving and who should have somebody cool who didn't get all mad at her because she was good at magic.

Dawn wasn't a bad person, was she? For wanting Willow to be able to be happy, even with somebody who used to be Buffy's? Even though Buffy hadn't been dead for very long?

Just like she had a few minutes go, Dawn started to wonder – was this how a real, life-long human girl would feel? Was she cold or wrong or something? She needed to get out of here; she needed to talk to someone who could maybe help her make sense of things. "I'm gonna go get dressed and then take Spike some blood, okay?"

"Didn't he go get blood yesterday?" Willow asked.

"Yeah, but Angel's stuff is better." Angel chuckled. Good. That meant it was okay.

"Take four bags," Angel said as she got up to leave the room.

"What about your breakfast?"

"I'm full." Willow sort of glowered at her and Dawn hastened to try and make it okay. "I'll eat the healthiest dinner ever. I promise."

There was a story here. Angel could see that. What he also saw was an opening for a pleasant idea. "Guess that means I'm taking you ladies to that new vegetarian place downtown tonight." He watched as Dawn's face briefly fell, but then he added, "Tell Spike he's welcome to join us," and all was right with the world again, at least Dawn's corner of it.

"Okay." With that, she bounded out of the kitchen.

"Thanks," Willow said after a few seconds. "I caught her eating chocolate chip cookies for breakfast. I think a veggie dinner is a good idea."

It was impossible not to feel the tension between them. It was to be expected and Angel didn't allow it to dishearten him. Instead, he approached her. "Last night was incredible." His voice was low but intense and the blush it elicited from her was arousing. All that blood so close to the surface.

"Angel," Willow protested weakly. She was in completely unfamiliar territory now. Never in her life had she been in a sexual relationship with someone she didn't love. Oh god. She'd just thought of this as a relationship, hadn't she? But there was no getting around it. Two encounters took it past one night stand territory and it wasn't like she was going to say no if Angel showed up in her bedroom again.

How did he feel? She should probably talk to him about it, right? And yeah, that would so go over well with a guy whose silences rivaled Oz when it came to his thoughts and feelings, although he did seem to talk to her more than he had to Buffy.

Great, just dredge up the memory of your dearly departed friend who loved Angel more than anything in the world. That'll make this all so much easier to deal with.

"Dawn's upstairs," Angel replied. "But if it makes you feel better…" He let his voice trail off and took a small step back. The barely audible sigh of relief from Willow told him he was getting it right. The key was to push, but not too hard.

Speaking of Dawn, he heard her heavy-footed tread on the stairs and a moment later, she was back in the kitchen. There was something childlike and wholesome about her. How very different she was from Buffy, who'd been the same age when Angel had first laid eyes on her. Well, the same age in years, but so very much older inside, even before the weight of her calling had fully descended upon her. Dawn was a little girl still; he could see where that created such a conflict for Spike. Maybe tonight he and the boy would have that talk. After patrol, he'd find some way to speak Spike alone.

"Hey!" Dawn caroled brightly. "I'm ready to go." She bounced over to the fridge and began putting bags of blood into the canvas bag she was carrying. "Six, right?"

Angel chuckled at her greed on Spike's behalf as he nodded his assent. "Six." That would mean a Willy's run tomorrow night, but he had enough to tide himself over until then, so he wasn't concerned. Besides, buttering Spike up a bit was no bad way to lay the groundwork for tonight's discussion.

"Great," Dawn chirped and, with a quick hug bestowed on Willow, a smile for Angel, and an exuberant goodbye, she was out the back door and on her way to the cemetery.

Silence reigned for a long moment or two and Angel could see the wheels turning behind Willow's eyes. She wanted to talk. No, that wasn't on the agenda today. Analysis and intellectualization would put the ball in her court and Angel preferred to play to his own best advantage. "I need a shower," he said. "And then I think I'm going to get some sleep before dinner tonight." He gave her a sensual smile. "I'm still pretty tired." He crowed inwardly, realizing he'd spiked her guns. "I'm guessing we'll make it around 7?" Not waiting for her answer, he, like Dawn a minute ago, left the room. Willow was alone with her thoughts.

Giles sat by the simple headstone, still marveling at the fact that only a very few could even see it. It shouldn't have to be like that. Buffy was one for the history books. She should be mourned by everyone in Sunnydale – everyone in the world.

But he understood why that couldn't be, even as he wished for heaps of gaudy arrangements covering her grave every day. He noticed a stone there. Willow must have left it. Still Jewish in her heart, he supposed, and that thought made him smile rather wistfully. "She misses you," Giles said softly, as if Buffy could hear him. "We all do. But you're not here, are you? No, wherever you are, it's someplace else. Somewhere far, far away. Somewhere happy, I hope. You deserve that. You _earned _that. The universe couldn't be so unfair as to send you anywhere but paradise."

He paused, and then kept speaking, unwilling to give up the fantasy that somehow his Slayer was listening. "You won't… you won't miss _me_, will you, when I leave? Because without you, there's no place for me here any longer, nothing for me to do. Willow is… well, she's taking splendid care of Dawn. Angel's even helping, if you can believe that. It would make you happy, I know, if you could see the way they get along. They're doing everything to take care of her the way you'd want. I dare say Joyce would be pleased as well. Spike's looking out for Dawn also, just as you asked him to do. And as for patrols, thanks to that ridiculous robot and Willow's magic and Angel and Spike's skill with weaponry, things are quite under control. So you see, you can rest now. I…" He stopped, not sure how to say what he so wanted to. She'd known, though, hadn't she? She'd known that he loved her like a daughter, not merely as the Slayer over whom he was duty bound to stand watch. "You're the finest girl," he choked out. Then he rather clumsily got to his feet and headed back to his car.

"Goodbye, Buffy." This time he didn't pretend she could hear him.

Tbc…


	27. Chapter 27

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twenty-Seven)

Housework was boring and tiring, but at least it sort of helped Willow not to think.

Okay, not really, but there was a satisfying aura of scourging the self about it and that, while perhaps a bit more Catholic than her own Semitic roots would prefer, did help take away some of the overwhelming burden of guilt she was carrying.

Not like baking cookies was going to do it for fucking Buffy's soulmate in Buffy's own house.

She got up from the floor she was scrubbing, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes. Maybe she needed to go even further in the Catholic vein. Wasn't confession supposed to be good for the soul? Maybe… Maybe she should go to Buffy's grave, bare her sins. Dragging the bucket with her sponge in it over to the corner, she looked over the damp, streaky floor. Goddess she hoped she did a better job with confession than she did with housework, because the floor looked frightful. It made her want to find the housekeeper who'd worked for her parents and apologize to her for taking those shiny floors she grew up with for granted.

Turning to leave the kitchen and go upstairs to make herself presentable enough to leave the house, she heard the doorbell. Darn it! Part of her wanted to just ignore it in the hopes that whoever was there would think no one was home and go away, but she didn't think adding deception to the pile of sins she'd committed was such a swell idea, so, with a heavy sigh, she trudged through the dining room and to the front door.

Without even asking who it was, she opened it. After all, it was daylight. Not like there were usually demons about at this hour.

No, it wasn't a demon, but she was still sort of surprised by who it was. Ringing the doorbell was kind of formal, wasn't it?

"Giles?"

"Spike? Are you awake? I have breakfast for you. Angel let me bring the good stuff."

Dawn's caroled greeting roused Spike from a disordered and chaotic sleep. Which explained why he didn't realize he'd forgotten to put a shirt on until he noticed the way she stared. Oh hell. At least he'd remembered his jeans. Should he go back down to get a t-shirt? He didn't want to act self-conscious around her; might make her realize he'd been seeing her differently lately. He elected to leave the shirt off and act as if it was of no consequence.

"Thanks, Niblet." He gave her a brotherly smile and reached for the bag she was holding. "Six bags? M'sire's feeling generous, isn't he?"

He had to admit he was pretty hungry, and he wanted to heat up some blood right away, but there was something more going on than a friendly breakfast delivery. Dawn was smiling, yeah, but it didn't reach her eyes. "What's wrong?"

Darn it, she'd sort of hoped Spike wouldn't notice; not yet, anyway. Because, okay, she had actually come here to talk to him about what she was feeling and it was pretty cool that he knew her so well, but she'd kind of intended to postpone the whole 'talking about stuff' thing for awhile. Especially since it was pretty obvious from the whole 'no shirt' thing that she'd just woken him up. "Wrong? What makes you think anything's wrong?"

"Maybe the fact that you sound like you've been sucking on one of those helium balloons."

Again, darn. "I was… I didn't come over here to just dump my problems on you."

"Know that, don't I? C'mon. Let's go sit down and you can tell Spike all about it."

This was getting a bit dangerous, but Spike couldn't bear to see his little girl in pain. Once upon a time, she'd been something else, but now she _was _a little girl – a lost child all but alone in the world. "C'mon," he repeated and, like the good girl she was, she obeyed, following him to the couch and sitting beside him.

She didn't say anything, though. At least not for a very long minute or two. But then she blurted out, "Am I like real people?"

"What brought that on?" he asked, knowing that if some person had put these doubts in her head, chip or no, he'd torture them until they begged to die. "Because you are a real person. As real as anybody."

He was coddling her and she was serious and she wanted him to understand. "I mean it, Spike, okay? Because I'm… I don't think I'm grieving like normal people. I mean, Buffy just died and I'm already… This morning when I ate cookies for breakfast I was more worried about Willow being upset than how Buffy would have felt, and I just wish I knew what I was like back when I wasn't… when I wasn't this," she gestured to her body, "back when I was just a ball of energy. Did I have feelings then? What were they like? Did I have friends? Do shiny balls of energy even have friends? Why can't I be like Anya? Because at least she remembers what she used to be. I don't even have that. I just know that practically everything about me is fake and…" She couldn't finish her sentence because she burst into tears.

Spike's heart, the heart he'd been wont to think was already well and truly shattered, splintered into pieces all over again. He pulled Dawn into his arms and held her tight. "There's nothing fake about you, Bit. Nothing. You're the most real and perfect thing in the whole world. You just get this nonsense out of your head, you hear me?" There were tears in his eyes too as he held her. How could she think like that? Didn't she realize that they were all struggling with the fact that life had to go on and that the space in the world where Buffy had lived had to fill itself with other people and other things? That was the way life worked, no matter what.

At this moment, however, Spike was struggling with something else. Dawn was staring up into his eyes. Her face blotchy with tears and emotion, nose puffy, and eyes red-rimmed. He wanted to hold her like this forever, keep her away from the whole world, the world full of things that made her doubt herself, but he couldn't, could he? Not the least of which was because – well, because she wasn't ready to be his. There were years to wait before she'd be grown, ready to make up her own mind about what she wanted and where she belonged. Right now, yeah, she was goin' on about not feeling human, but she was and she had all those options humans did. He wasn't going to take them away from her either, even if it meant breaking every piece of his heart until it could never be mended watching some silly human boy walk her down the aisle, give her babies, share the sunlight with her.

Dawn had been right about one thing: coming to see Spike had been the right thing to do. She just wished she could help him the way he was helping her. Because he looked even more sad and lost than she felt. "Are you okay?"

He did that kind of shrug thing he could do with his face and not his shoulders and she knew there was something wrong, but that he wasn't going to tell her about it. He thought she was a baby. "I'm older than Anya, you know."

The only reply she got was a soft chuckle.

If he thought that little laugh was going to fool her, it didn't. She'd done a lot of growing up, what with her Mom and Buffy dying, and she wasn't so easy to deceive. But it didn't matter, did it? Because he really did see her as this dumb little girl, someone he needed to keep stuff from. She sighed and nestled against his chest, looking away so he wouldn't see how hurt she was. At least he was here for her and she could tell _him _things. "Thanks."

"What for?"

"For letting me cry all over you."

He kissed the top of her head. "No need to thank me."

She noticed again that he wasn't wearing a shirt. Gosh was he pale. His skin looked like marble. She ran her hand along his stomach.

Before he could stop himself, Spike hissed. What the bloody hell… If he'd needed any proof that at least he'd done well at concealing his feelings from her, well, yeah, at least this was it. But his jeans were about to be uncomfortably tight. "I gotta eat something." Extricating himself from a surprised Dawn, he got up and went to the canvas bag she'd brought. Thank heavens this was the good stuff. He needed the strength.

"You're leaving?" Willow's eyes were wide and watery and for a moment, Giles thought of undoing all his plans, but he knew he was doing the right thing. This was a sentimental twitch on her part, and one he appreciated, but it didn't for a moment mean that Sunnydale was still his home.

"I… I need to find…" He paused, tongue-tied and unsure of how to explain this in a way that didn't insult her. Should he have waited and told them all at once? Too late now, of course, but he was starting to think so. "I need to find my vocation again, I suppose. Perhaps I'll talk to the Council upon my return. Or… well, there are other organizations, other people involved in our sort of work. I just need to feel… important. Do you understand?" Now he knew why he had elected to speak to her alone. As difficult as this was, he realized that she was the only one who might understand, the only one who would…

"I think I get it," Willow said, and she did, didn't she? It was no wonder she'd slid so neatly into the position of leader, and no wonder that, for all that he might be jealous, he couldn't hate her or even truly resent her for it. This was another good reason for him to leave. She needed to be able to bloom and grow and become all that was within her. She didn't need a mentor to whom she might feel duty bound to defer. With him gone…and then when Angel went home… Yes, she'd be a magnificent woman.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. But it was. Joyce was gone, Buffy was gone, and now… and now Giles was leaving. Okay, it wasn't like he was dead, but England was far, far away. Willow knew what happened when people moved far away. First you got phone calls every week, then it was once a month, then they stopped calling at all and you got Christmas cards instead because they didn't even differentiate you from all the Christians on their mailing list anymore. That's the way it had gone with her Aunt Rose when she married the guy her father always called 'that man' – the one who wasn't Jewish – and moved to Seattle. Her Aunt Rose had been the one person in her family who'd ever really seemed to care about Willow at all, who remembered that she hated orange Tootsie Pops and sat up with her watching monster movies and taking Willow seriously when she dissected the bad scientific explanations and tried to make them make sense, but then she moved away and Willow became as invisible as Marcie Ross. It would be the same with Giles; she knew it would.

"I… We'll… I'll miss you," she said, stumbling over her words, not knowing if she should use 'I' statements or speak for everyone. "But you need to do what's right for you." And yeah, that last was a cliché, but she wasn't going to break down and bawl and beg him not to go. She wasn't a fourth grade girl who needed her Aunt Rose anymore. She was a grown woman and Giles had the right to a life of his own. Even if it was a life without Willow in it.

Oh god did she feel selfish, because hey, Dawn and Xander were going to miss him too. Heck, probably Anya and maybe even Spike would miss him. "When are you going to tell…?"

"I thought I would tell them all this evening. I have an appointment in a few hours to make some legal arrangements about the shop. I… I wanted to speak to you first."

Now the tears that had been swimming in Willow's eyes began to fall and Giles once again thought perhaps he was making a mistake, but he wasn't. He knew that his doubts were merely the transformation of fear. "You've done a magnificent job through all of this. I hope you know how very… how very proud I am of you. I can't imagine anyone else holding things together the way you've done."

He wondered if the words got through, but he meant them. Yes, he had concerns – how much magic she used, her friendship with Angel – but he had faith in her, and he was in awe of how well she was bearing up under a loss he well knew was as painful for her as for him. This was another reason he needed to leave: the shame he felt at how much less he had been since Buffy had fallen to Earth, the need to pull himself up by his bootstraps and be what he'd once been.

What would his Slayer think now, if his fool's conceit at her grave could come true and she could see the way things were going without her?

All Willow had done in response to his words was shrug and what remained was silence, painful and awkward silence. He needed to say more. "I know you don't believe me. We all…and myself, I fear, most of all, do rather take you for granted."

He would have continued, but she interrupted. "You don't. Really. I've never felt like that at all." The moment was lost and more words wouldn't come. Perhaps because he needed to believe she truly meant what she just said…and that if she did, it wasn't somehow worse than if she'd resented him for all the times he'd never bothered to thank her.

"It's not going to be the same without you," she added, steering the conversation away from herself. "Would you do one thing for me before you go?"

"Yes, of course," he said, even as he wondered what she'd ask of him.

"Could you sing, and play your guitar? You know, like you did at the Espresso Pump?"

Giles wrapped his arms around Willow. She wasn't the only one shedding tears now.

It was Saturday, and while his fiancée had to work today, Xander didn't. So why not head over to see his bestest bud? Even if Deadboy was sure to be there. If it mattered to anyone, he didn't trust or like the guy and he never would. Angel had been an asshole since the first day he set foot in Sunnydale and not even a well-deserved sojourn in Hell had changed that. Of course, it wasn't like Xander could say anything to Willow, and he guessed the money Angel was providing came in pretty handy.

Speaking of which, where did it come from anyway? Because no way had Angel become the most well-paid private eye in the history of Los Angeles without attracting publicity – which he hadn't attracted, so… Yeah, Xander was pretty suspicious about the source of all that cash he was spreading around. And okay, maybe he was spending too much time with Anya, but was it fair that Angel probably paid _no _taxes? Because the difference between what Xander earned and what he actually netted every week was criminal and he called foul on some murdering, creepy, undead guy not having to get gouged too.

Giles's car was in the driveway and Xander was feeling torn between being glad someone else who hated Angel was there to irritate the jerk and feeling cheated because he'd been hoping to steal Willow away for some Two Musketeers time. Xander parked his own lots less cool car and got out. He had a sort of weird feeling. Not exactly a wiggins, but not exactly not one either. He headed for the door and walked into the empty living room. The sound of voices coming from the kitchen told him where to go.

"Hey," he said cheerily as he walked in… and saw a teary-eyed Willow hugging an equally teary-eyed Giles. Okay, this was bad. Also, the fact that the sort-of-wiggins he had outside appeared to be right on the money made him worry a lot about all the other wiggy feelings he'd been having lately. "What happened?" He just knew it couldn't be Angel having gone out sunbathing, because no way would Giles be upset about that.

Giles looked at Willow for a few seconds, but this was an announcement he needed to make himself, wasn't it? He cleared his throat before speaking. "I… I was just informing Willow… Of course I was going to tell you next… I'm… I'm returning to England. Soon. Very soon."

There were times when Xander's expression of open-mouthed astonishment had been amusing, but now was not one of those times. Especially as he could tell that there was a certain amount of hurt there. Perhaps he had a right to it. Perhaps Giles should have told them all at once. But he'd done it the way _he _wanted to and there was no going back. "I'm leaving Anya in charge of the shop, of course, and naturally she'll be earning more money for running it in my absence…"

"Do you think I care about the money?" Xander's voice clearly betrayed the pain Giles had feared was there. "You're leaving. That's what I care about."

Willow got up and went to her best friend, pulling him into a hug. "He needs to go, Xan. He can't just stay here. It's not the same. Not anymore." She hoped she was explaining it right, because she knew how Xander was feeling and she felt the same way but…

They weren't those stupid young kids who'd blundered into Buffy's life thinking that fighting evil would be 'neat' and who'd needed adult supervision and guidance to keep from getting slaughtered in the first week. They were grown-ups now and they'd outlived Buffy and… And maybe they'd outgrown Giles. She knew that's how Giles saw it anyway, and that was, when it all came down to it, what mattered.

She only hoped he wasn't like her Aunt Rose after all. Not just for her sake, but for Xander's.

"I have a great idea," she chirped. "Why don't we all go back to Giles's place? He promised me a concert and there's no time like the present, right?" She suddenly remembered that he'd said he had an appointment, but Giles nodded with a half-smile so she guessed there was time. "Great! Let me just write a note for Angel in case he wakes up before I get back and then we can go."

As much as she'd sort of wanted that concert to be just for her, she was glad now that she was sharing it with Xander. He needed to be part of this. Dashing off a quick 'Went out to run some errands. Back soon,' Willow followed the others through the living room, grabbed her purse off the coat tree, and headed out to Xander's car.

The Rupert Giles Farewell Concert awaited.

Tbc…


	28. Chapter 28

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twenty-Eight)

Angel had awakened to an empty house; he'd known that even before he'd found the note Willow had left for him in the kitchen. It wasn't pleasant. Even in Los Angeles he'd found himself preferring not to be alone, but now…

Of course, he'd already known Dawn would be over at Spike's. However, he'd rather expected Willow to be here – perhaps puttering downstairs, working on that ridiculous robot.

Just as he was thinking about the plastic and wire simulacrum of his former lover, he found himself on the stairs to the basement. Some sort of morbid cast to his mood taking him to the presence of that thing, he supposed, but he trod down to the dark, windowless room nevertheless.

He didn't bother turning on the light. Not as if he had any trouble seeing and there weren't any humans to worry about right now, were there? The Buffybot was slumped against the wall, eyes wide and unseeing, expression cheery and vacant. There was nothing of the shrewdness or wit which had been Buffy's most engaging qualities.

Well, that and her tits. Angel was all alone; he could admit to the crassness of his own feelings. So yes, a lot of what he'd fancied about Buffy had been located right underneath those tight shirts of which she was so very fond. He stared at the robot's body. Warren had obviously done some staring at the area below Buffy's neck as well, because from what Angel could see, he'd gotten that part of Buffy more right than he had her face.

Should Angel be disgusted that, when it came to what attracted him, he had once been not so very different from a pimply-faced geek who'd had to build a girl in his basement in order to get laid?

At least he'd finally grown up, though.

Or had he? Because now he found himself indulging in something impossibly naïve in its hopeful melancholy. "I love her, you know," he said softly to the immobile hunk of plastic a few feet away. "I never expected it, but I do." The Buffybot, as lifeless as her model, mouldering in a grave on a nearby hill, said nothing. Angel kept talking. "It's more than I felt for you and I'm sorry. Because it's not fair that you thought what we had was… That it was more than it was." He wanted to say something like 'you deserved better', but the cliché seemed hollow on his tongue. Even the words he'd actually spoken rang tinny and discordant. Couldn't Buffy have let go without his instruction, after all? She had clung more tightly to the grand delusion than he ever had and it was ultimately her choice to drown in the sand of its arid, false ocean.

"I'll always take care of Dawn. She's… She's family. You never have to worry about her. Or Xander or Giles or Anya either. They're all under my protection." Turning back to the staircase, he was about to leave, but then he found one more thing to say, something utterly sincere, something he hoped would penetrate the barrier between worlds and find Buffy where she really was, something he hoped she could actually hear. "I hope you're happy. That you've found the peace you earned. You were a great Slayer. The finest who ever fought. You saved the world, Buffy. You deserve to be in Paradise."

Whether she heard him or not, all Angel heard was the sound of his own feet on the creaking stairs, taking him back up to the kitchen.

"He can still sing," Willow sighed softly as she sat in the passenger seat of Xander's car as they headed for the Magic Box to pick up Anya. What else was she supposed to say? Giles was leaving. She'd accepted it and she felt an oddly hollow sense of what her mother always called 'closure.'

"Yeah, if you like that whole 'Unplugged' thing, but doesn't his set list kind of make you wonder if the occasional wacky magical orgy was the only unwholesome thing he was doing before coming to Sunnydale? Because that song about the guy with the balloon hands just screamed 'acid flashback' to me."

Willow winced inwardly as Xander's use of the words 'set list' made her think of Oz. She forced a giggle and said, "It's a classic, you know." But she paused just before she was about to tell him the name of the song. 'Comfortably Numb' wasn't exactly a title that was going to rebut Xander's theory, was it? But he was right about one thing – the material Giles had performed was significant. Songs about solitude and cynicism and sadness had abounded, some she knew and some she'd never heard before. She wondered how long Giles had been this lonely, because she had a horrible feeling that he'd been like this before Buffy had died, even if he'd managed to keep the awareness at bay by submerging himself in Buffy's sacred duty. "He needs to do this," she said firmly as she placed her hand over Xander's on the steering wheel.

"I know." Xander got it – it was just that it hurt. Giles had been more of a father to him than his own had ever been, but today he'd had to accept that Giles didn't feel the same way. Oh sure, he cared about Xander, but Xander wasn't like a son to him. If he was, Giles wouldn't find it so easy to pack up and leave the country. One more death, even if it was only the death of a dream. "I love you, Willow." He didn't take his eyes off the road; it wouldn't help his manly street cred if she could see that he had the beginnings of tears in them. Blinking, he pulled down the visor so he could pretend the sun was the cause.

"I love you, too."

When all was said and done, it was the two of them, wasn't it? Willow and Xander, the Two Musketeers. Sure, she'd had Tara and he still had Anya, but that was different. Girlfriends, even almost-wives, they weren't anything like this. Willow was family – really and truly family – the way he'd always fantasized Giles was. Why hadn't he appreciated that until right now?

Maybe because now he was terrified that she was as lonely as Giles was. What would that mean? Well, when in doubt, it was time for Xander to do the Xander thing, right? Make with the jokes? The problem was that he couldn't think of any. What he could think of were questions he'd been wanting to ask her but hadn't been able to get her alone to ask. "How are things with Deadboy?"

If Willow hadn't just had sex with that very vampire in Buffy's house half a day ago, she probably would have seen the question as a commonplace and taken it in stride. Unfortunately, she was way too self-conscious and she made a mistake – a mistake she couldn't hide from her closest friend. She blushed.

Being stopped at a traffic light was kinda good right now – except for the part where Xander was staring at her like she was as red as it was. "Okay. I'm guessing this means I was right about him having some sort of sleazy crush on you."

She fought not to sigh with relief. That's all he had figured out? "I wouldn't really call it a crush. He's just… We're like family now and he cares and…"

"And he practically drools whenever he looks at you. C'mon, Will. Fangboy didn't even wait for…" He paused and Willow felt terrible about how upset he obviously was.

"The light's green," she said gently. "It's not what you think," she added, getting back on topic. Hey, that wasn't actually a lie, because she was sure Xander didn't think she and Angel were having sex.

"Sure it isn't. Oh well. At least you're not interested in him. I mean you're gay and…" Xander caught a glimpse of Willow's renewed blush out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to write it off, let it pass, anything but deal with what he knew it meant. But he didn't, even though he was cursing himself because hey, he so did not want this today. No more hiding for Xander. Spotting a parking space in front of a knitting store, he pulled the car over. This was not a talk he wanted to have while trying to drive. He took a deep breath and tried to be as calm and reasonable as possible. Willow was his best friend and she was going through a lot. She didn't need a Xander freak-out right now. "You and… There's more to this than Angel making googly eyes at you, isn't there?"

Giles came out of his accountant's office. His attorney had been at the meeting as well and taken care of all the business pertaining to The Magic Box. Anya would no doubt be pleased, though the fact that he would still be entitled to some of the profits might chafe. She never had accepted that he had made a substantial investment in the place and that it alone entitled him to compensation. He chuckled softly, wondering if her grasp of capitalism was either imperfect or more perfect than she knew.

Anya Jenkins. Someday soon, she would be Anya Harris, wouldn't she? He probably wouldn't be here to see it, to see Xander take that one last step out of childhood. No, he'd be in London, drinking ale that tasted like ale and experiencing actual weather, not the two degree changes in temperature that Californians laughably called seasons. He would be home.

It was a good thing that home really wasn't where the heart was, wasn't it? Because if that were true, he'd be brewing tea in a grave right now.

Looking around, he could almost see Buffy walking down the twilit street. Stores she'd been fond of, restaurants she'd frequented…they were everywhere. He could scarcely breathe.

Memories wound like chains around his limbs and his plans changed. He wasn't leaving in a couple of days. No, he would go straight to the house, say his farewells to Dawn and Anya, if she was there, then pack what he could and go to Los Angeles tonight. His flight was leaving from there after all. He would set up temporary quarters in a hotel near the airport and professionals could deal with what was left in his apartment after Anya and Xander had picked over it.

Would they understand? He hoped so. But if he didn't go tonight, he'd be trapped here forever. "I have to leave," he said to no one at all. Then he got in his car and drove towards what had once been Buffy's home. From middle-aged layabout to middle-aged runaway. It should have been funny.

It should have been.

Dawn got Spike to rush back to the house with her the moment the sun went down. It was vegetarian dinner night, after all, and Dawn wanted to get it over with so she could get back home and eat junk food. "Hey, Angel," she chirped as she came tumbling in the back door. She was sort of surprised Willow wasn't here, but then she heard the sound of the front door opening. Xander and Willow and Anya soon joined them all in the kitchen.

Gosh. They looked as depressed about eating yucky health food as she felt. Which made no sense from Willow because she loved that stuff. And hey, were Xander and Anya even invited? "Hi, guys," she said, trying again for cheerful. Xander and Willow fake-smiled back. Anya didn't bother.

Angel nodded at the gaggle of returnees, assessing everyone's mood. Spike looked troubled, careful not to look at Dawn too long before moving his eyes elsewhere. Yeah, he knew what was going on there. There was no chance he was going to let anything stop them from having that talk tonight. He wanted William to know that he understood. Dawn, after all, was nearly the same age that Buffy had been when Angel had first laid eyes on her. Still… The rules were different and they needed to discuss that. Dawn was no Slayer, despite the fact she had begun as even more of a supernatural creature than her so-called sister. She was human now, for all intents and purposes, and she would be a hothouse flower, carefully tended, if Angel had any say in the matter.

But right now wasn't the time for the talk. Taking Spike aside would only cause comment in front of the others. Speaking of which, Xander was glaring at him with a bit more concentrated venom than he had of late… and Willow wasn't looking at him at all. Had she told him about their relationship?

Time to spike the guns. "Harris, Anya. We were planning to have dinner at that new vegetarian place tonight. Would you like to join us?" His tone was blandly congenial, as was the smile he offered.

Anya shook her head. Vegetarian food? She shuddered and thought of rabbits. Thank heavens that Xander would rather die than…

"Sure thing." Okay, who was the man she was standing next to and where was her husband to be? He couldn't possibly have been split in two again. Because Toth was dead…wasn't he? And besides, no part of Xander liked vegetables.

"Great," Angel replied and Anya vowed that Xander was going to pay for this. But before she could turn and give him a stare that promised orgasm-free nights for…well, until she couldn't stand it anymore, someone else came into the kitchen.

Anya stared at the new arrival, not sure what to do. Normally she'd be perky and cheerful because after all, Giles was her boss, but now… Now he was going back to England and she wondered if maybe his deciding to bail on everyone was the reason Xander was so deranged that he had agreed to eat leaves and twigs tonight and… "So. When are you leaving?"

Biting her lip, Willow stifled a groan. Hadn't they told Anya not to say anything? She was sure that Xander had told her to pretend she didn't know because Giles had wanted to tell Anya and Dawn himself.

Giles looked like a deer caught in the headlights and Dawn was clearly completely confused. "Leaving? But you just got here."

Of course, Anya couldn't let well enough alone. "Oh I don't mean leaving here. Well, yes, I do, just not…" Xander finally managed to wrap his arms around Anya and put one hand over her mouth. Unfortunately, it was too late.

"You're leaving?" Giles was caught by a pair of wide, accusing eyes.

"This isn't how I had planned to tell you," he shot a glare at Anya, who was struggling with Xander, "but yes, I'm… I'm going home."

Dawn stared at him. At the man Buffy had always considered a surrogate father. He was leaving them.

It figured. Yeah, he always _said_ he cared about all of them, but the truth was, he was only really concerned about Buffy and now that she was gone… Well, you know what? That was fine. Because she had Spike and Willow and Xander and Angel and they were all tons cooler than Giles had ever been anyway. She changed her glare to a soft smile and walked over and hugged him. "Have a safe trip," she offered.

"I'll only be a phone call away," he said, in the same way he'd pretended to like spending time with her back when he'd been the one doing the babysitting. She'd seen through it then, too. Just like then, she wasn't going to admit it.

"Thanks." She let go of him and went back to Spike.

"Don't forget to send me some proper biscuits and some ale while you're at it," Spike cracked. He couldn't say that he was surprised or the slightest bit upset by the Watcher's departure for parts well-known. Bastard didn't have the stones for life in the aftermath, now did he? He was glad that Bit was holding up, though, because he'd have never forgiven the bastard if his precious girl shed one single tear. Joyce and Buffy dying was all the heartache he was willing to allow.

"When _are_ you leaving?" Xander asked. Anya stood an extra step away from him and the scowl she sported promised Xander an unpleasant evening indeed

This had all gone horribly awry and Giles felt quite badly about it, but there was nothing to be done now. Perhaps it was better this way. Fewer tears. They had all cried so much lately. "I was planning… I will be leaving tonight, actually. Which reminds me. I wanted to offer you and Anya any of my furniture that you'd care to have. Everything else will be going into storage until I can sell it and…"

"And I get paid more to run the store, right?" Anya asked.

"Yes. You'll be hearing from the accountant tomorrow. I made all the necessary arrangements today."

"Good. So we won't need any of your old, ugly, used furniture because now we can buy new, attractive furniture."

Suppressing a chuckle, Giles nodded. Anya was Anya. "That's fine then."

"I'll miss you," she said brightly.

"I'll miss you, as well. All of you," he said, even while he pointedly avoided looking at Angel as his eyes swept the room.

Angel said nothing, taking care to keep his expression blank, but inside his heart soared. One more problem solved; one more load of dead weight thrown over the side. They would sail all the faster and the more effectively without him.

He watched as Willow went to the old man and wrapped her arms around him. "Keep in touch, okay?" she all but begged. That much made Angel sorry – the fact that she was obviously pained by the loss of Buffy's mentor.

Seconds later, Xander joined the embrace, followed by Dawn…who shot him the shrewdest look before taking part in the group hug. Well, well. What he'd told the robot was truer than he'd thought. She _was _family, wasn't she? Then Anya added herself to the mix and the moment was lost. He turned his eyes on Spike. Had he seen what had passed just seconds ago? Angel couldn't tell, so he just stood and observed, letting the clichéd farewell treacle wash over his awareness, waiting for the ritual goodbyes to be over.

Soon enough, they were.

"I shall let you know the moment I arrive in London," Giles told them all. A few more sentimental exchanges followed and then Angel watched as Willow followed Giles out of the kitchen. He was leaving at last. Good riddance.

Willow fought to keep the tears at bay as she closed the front door, then went to the living room window and waved as Giles drove away. He was gone. He was really and truly gone.

She turned and went back into the kitchen. "We better go upstairs and change for dinner, Dawnie." Without even waiting to see if she was being followed, Willow hurried back out of the room and up the stairs. She understood and she accepted and she knew that Giles had done the right thing, but she couldn't help it. She needed a few minutes alone to cry.

Tbc…


	29. Chapter 29

To One in Paradise (Chapter Twenty-Nine)

Xander stared at Angel, trying not to convey just how upset he was. He'd promised Willow to leave it alone and he wasn't going to break his word, even though he knew she hadn't told him everything and confronting Angel would probably fill in the wide gaps in his best friend's messy and unconvincing narrative. Did he really want to know everything, after all? His eyes met Angel's. There was arrogance there and a smug self-assurance that confirmed to Xander that what he'd always told everyone – that there wasn't really any difference between Angelus and Diet Angelus (aka Angel) – _was_ the truth. Well, except for the endless amounts of slaughter and unleashing hell on Earth. But his nature? Yeah, Angel was a demon, every bit as much of one as Spike ever was and maybe more. Because at least Spike never pretended he was anything else.

He couldn't bear the thought of that…that _thing _and his best friend…his more-than-sister. Nothing he could do, though, was there? No, because Angel had made sure that he was protected by what amounted to stake-proof armour: he was needed. Bill to be paid? Angel had the deep pockets. Help on patrol? Unlike Xander, Angel was actually able to take down a demon all by himself.

Willow lonely and needing someone to lean on? Angel and those brooding brown eyes and broad, cold shoulders slipped right in.

Speaking of slipping in… But no, they'd never do that, right? There was the curse. No way would Willow ever risk…

The staring contest ended as Xander's gaze dropped to the floor. He didn't like what he was too close to seeing. It was a hell of a lot better to hang out in the badly-built fantasy world Willow had constructed for him, the one where Angel had 'sort of' feelings for her and she was oh so grateful to him for being her friend and maybe they'd kissed once or twice but they both knew nothing could ever really happen between them. That world wasn't up to code or anything, but until the rain flooded him out or the city inspectors evicted him, Xander was staying put.

Tonight the tension between Xander and Angel seemed to have amped up a bit and Spike decided he was amused by it. Guess the whelp had tumbled to what was going on between Angel and Willow and didn't cotton much to it. Too bad for him. Not as if there was a bloody thing he could do about it. Spike couldn't see Angel letting anything come between him and Red, even if it was her childhood chum, not the Angel he had come to know now, anyway.

Still, as much as he enjoyed the antagonism in the air, he could see the wisdom in breaking it up before Dawn and Willow came back down. "So what's the name of this granola restaurant we'll be going to?"

"The Garden of Life," Angel replied. It was clear he saw the irony in the name and Spike caught him suppressing a smirk.

"Fine place for a couple of vampires," Spike agreed. "What on Earth made you pick a place like that?"

"Willow caught Dawn eating cookies for breakfast and thought she needed a healthy dinner to make up for it."

Spike chuckled. Niblet hadn't told him that part of the story.

The easy camaraderie he somehow had with Spike was… Angel wasn't sure what it was, except perhaps further proof that he was right where he was supposed to be. He didn't ponder the subject too much, though; there were other things on which to focus. Xander, for instance. Clearly the boy knew something, but the fact that he remained silent and had backed down when Angel had challenged him nonverbally was a bit puzzling. Had Willow told him?

Anya was beginning to twitch. Something was going on that she didn't understand and she hated that. She'd known back at the Magic Box when Xander had told her about Giles leaving that there was something else, something Xander wasn't telling her about, and she was starting to get angry. Secrets and asparagus – two things Anya hated, two things Anya was forced to deal with anyway.

This was it: no orgasms for Xander tonight, or _any _night, until she got tired of her vibrator or he wore her down with the puppy eyes or he offered to wear leather.

The look Anya was giving him made him nervous as heck and he realized she knew that something was going on underneath all these silences and short sentences. Luckily, at least from Xander's point of view, the glaring and non-conversation was suddenly broken up by Dawn bounding into the room. "Ready?" she asked, looking around, clearly surprised that she was the first one back. "Where's Willow?"

"She's still upstairs. Which is very strange since she doesn't really care about her appearance."

And of course, on that note, Willow walked into the kitchen.

Angel's eyes were riveted to the girl in the doorway. It was obvious that she'd been crying. Cold water couldn't completely eradicate the red-rimmed eyes or faint blotches on her pale skin. That wasn't, however, what had him transfixed.

She was wearing the dress – the one he'd seen in his… Vision? Daydream? Whatever it had been. This was the dress. Violet and green flowers on pale cream. Did it mean something, other than that Cordelia didn't seem to be the only one with second sight?

"Sorry it took me so long," Willow apologized as she began to fidget. Angel was staring at her – was there something wrong with the dress? She hadn't been sure about it. Why had she let Dawn talk her into buying it? Should she go up and change? No, that would be rude. After all, everyone was standing there expectantly. They were probably hungry – well, except for Angel and Spike. "You guys ready?"

Dawn nodded vigorously. The sooner she finished picking at all that gross health food, the sooner she could pig out on ice cream while Willow, Spike, and Angel went out on patrol. Not like Xander cared if she got her dairy and fruit requirements from Cherry Garcia. "Vegetarian food. Yummy!"

Spike expertly smothered a chuckle. His little girl was overdoing it a bit; he could tell by her not-so-furtive glance toward the freezer exactly what she had in mind for later, but he did nothing to give her game away. Truth be told, he thought all that health food crap was a total waste. People died when they died and he couldn't see what food had to do with any of it. Wasn't like tofu was gonna stave off a Kaavar demon, was it? No indeed, so you might as well get your pleasure while you could. Blooming onions and biscuits tasted a damn sight better than sprouts. But he supposed that if it made Red feel better, more like she was taking care of Niblet, he could help make sure the girl choked down some lawn clippings. They might do her some good at that, he rather contrarily decided. Not like he knew much about human health, really, if he was honest. Better safe than sorry when it came to Dawn. She needed to live forever. "Let's be off then."

"Goody," Angel heard Anya grumble in a low tone, but she said nothing loudly enough for anyone but himself and Spike to hear, so he let it pass, gesturing for her and the rest of the ladies, Spike, and Xander to precede him out the door. He saw the red of Willow's hair glowing like a candle flame in the moonlight, the dress swirling softly just below her knees. His vision complete. What did it mean?

Willow and the vampires had just gotten the bot and left for patrol and Xander and the other two useless-at-fighting-demons types sat in the living room. "You know, the bacon was a little weird, but hey, at least that restaurant recognized that man does not live by plants alone," Xander said as he puzzled over the strange-tasting but at least not entirely healthy food he'd just eaten. Dawn giggled at him and he stared at her. "What's so funny?"

"It wasn't real bacon, silly. It was maple coconut bacon."

"Ew! I ate fake bacon?"

"Uh huh." Dawn giggled again, and so did Anya, only she seemed a lot more gleefully evil about it.

"It's not funny, you know."

"Oh, yes it is," Anya replied.

Xander could almost feel himself turning green. "There should be laws. You can't just tell people that they're eating bacon and then feed them… whatever that was."

Dawn laughed. "It said right on the menu: maple coconut bacon. It even said it was vegan."

It was worse than he thought. "Vegan?" He really needed to start reading menus. All he'd seen was 'BLT' and that had made his decision for him. "Please tell me that the chocolate cream pie wasn't actually carrots."

"No, that was real chocolate."

"Thank God. I thought I might need to have my stomach pumped."

As much as she'd intended to withhold any and all sexual favours for an indefinite period of time, looking at poor Xander so forlorn, and remembering that he had actually ingested an impostor posing as bacon, Anya decided she was going to comfort him the best way she knew how the moment they got home. He was sort of adorable right now, all miserable and victimized. "The tacos weren't bad," she offered, "though it would have been better if they had meat in them. I don't understand vegetarians anyway. Not like we're not all part of somebody's food chain. There are plenty of demon restaurants that serve human."

"Did you ever…?" Dawn's eyes grew wide with fear as she asked the question, but she knew Xander was thinking it, too, and they had to know.

Anya looked at her like she was crazy. "No, of course not. Although there was a chef at this one place I ate with Halfrek who was supposed to be able to do amazing things with…"

"An!" Xander cried. "I'm already dealing with being betrayed by bacon, okay? I don't need to think about being eaten."

Anya gave Xander one of those looks that everyone thought Dawn didn't understand and she rolled her eyes. She was fifteen, not five; she got the whole 'oral sex' thing.

All of a sudden, though, and for no reason she could think of, Dawn started thinking about Spike. Why would Anya making 'blow job' eyes at Xander make her think about Spike? But then stuff started to click – like the way Spike had been all mean to her after they'd been wrestling and then today, when he'd held her and then all of a sudden gotten up and barely touched her since.

Oh God. Did Spike…? Because yeah, she'd had grown-up kind of thoughts about him for awhile, she'd even touched herself once (okay more than once) while picturing him doing stuff to her, but she'd never, ever thought he'd ever think about her like that. He was older and cooler and in love with Buffy and he'd always treated her like his little sister. She wasn't, though. She was _Buffy's_ little sister.

Was that what it was? Did she make him think about Buffy? Or did he like _her_? Or was she completely wrong and was this some totally creepy and deranged fantasy she was having?

Why wasn't there anyone she could talk to about this? Because right now what she wanted more than anything was to have somebody wise and experienced to spill her guts to and help her figure out what was going on and how she should feel about it and what she should do. Unfortunately, the only two people she knew who were wise and experienced were Willow and Spike – oh, and Angel, but no way could she talk to him either.

She sighed. It was time for a distraction – for all of them, Dawn realized as she saw Anya make a hand gesture she thought she couldn't see. "So. What are we gonna play? Clue or Monopoly?"

Another vampire exploded in a cloud of dust and the Buffybot crowed with delight. "That'll teach you to do your math homework!"

Spike stared at Willow who shrugged sheepishly. "I tried to program some humour. I guess it still sorta needs work."

"Yeah. Just a bit." He chuckled, however, because the absurdity of the bot's attempt at Buffy's trademark wit did have its amusing side.

Angel shook his head. There had to be a way to do without that damn robot, at least unless something came up involving Dawn. He'd give the matter some serious thought tomorrow. For now, he would just ignore the silly creature. Easy enough since somehow it had forgotten he was supposed to be its boyfriend. No, Warren was nowhere near as skilled as Ted when it came to simulating life.

"Do you think the whelp realized that his bacon wasn't really bacon?" Spike asked, drawing Angel out of his thoughts.

"It _was _bacon," Willow argued. "It just wasn't meat." Angel shook his head. She was adorable.

"Which would mean it's not bacon," Spike shot back. "Hell. There's more bacon in those Twinkies the boy shovels into his mouth than there was in whatever vegetable was tarted up to pass for the good stuff."

"Fruit, actually. Coconut," Willow corrected him. Her brow wrinkled for a moment. "You like bacon?"

"Everyone likes bacon. I've even see you eat the stuff and you're Jewish."

Willow coloured slightly. Yeah, she did like bacon. But despite the fact that she wasn't exactly an observant Jew anymore, she still felt sort of guilty about it. "It is pretty good," she grudgingly acknowledged.

"Guys, heads up," Angel interposed. "There's a Mortac demon behind that crypt."

What do you know? Just as Angel spoke, the demon appeared and… Yikes! She'd never actually seen a Mortac before. Were they supposed to be this big? "What do you need?" she called out, guessing – correctly – that her magic would come in handy right about now.

"Fire!" Angel called back as his axe barely made a nick in the demon's thick skin.

Willow was quick to oblige. "Stand back," she warned, and just as Angel jumped a few feet away from the creature, she cried, "Incendere!" With that, there was a terrible scream as the demon burst into flames. Watching its death throes was disturbing. Why did it take so long to die?

But it finally did and then it dissolved into smoke and was gone as if it was never there… Except that Willow could still hear that scream.

Angel walked up to Willow and put his arm around her waist. It was clear that she was upset. So softhearted – she was even upset by the pain of a demon who wanted nothing more than their gory deaths. That was one of the things he loved about her, that kind and generous heart. "Thank you," he said softly. Because he was definitely grateful for the power she wielded. That Mortac would not have been defeated without her.

"You're a good witch," the Buffybot cheerfully added.

"That she is," Spike concurred, before immediately grimacing. Guess he realized he'd just found common ground with a mindless piece of plastic.

"I think we're done for the night," Angel said, his voice still low and gentle. His hand stayed on Willow's waist. She was still wearing the sundress and he felt her shiver slightly in the unexpectedly cool night air. "Let's go home."

The walk to the house had been silent but for the Buffybot's occasional attempts to flirt with Spike and that had given Willow's thoughts too much space in which to unsettle her. Sooner or later, after all, Xander, Anya, and Spike would leave, Dawn would go to bed, and she and Angel… Well, it would just be the two of them and she'd have to deal with that.

"Wonder how much junk food Dawn has eaten while we were gone," Willow mused, happy that her mind could find something comparatively trivial on which to focus for a moment.

"Dawn's my sister. She likes ice cream." And the Buffybot was heard from again.

Spike let out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah. We know that."

"Are you mad at me, my blond god?" The Buffybot's quivering lip and moist eyes looked more like Buffy faking distress than anything real and it made Spike ill. He was only grateful that Angel wasn't even smirking at the 'blond god' line. Bloody hell, but Warren had laid it on thick in the programming.

"Sorry," he offered, eager to keep the 'bot from trying harder to mollify him.

"Willow?" Angel said. "Why don't you take 'Buffy' inside? I need to talk to Spike for a minute."

Willow looked puzzled and Spike was glad. He was pretty sure he knew exactly what his sire wanted to discuss and he was relieved the witch didn't seem to have a clue. Peaches he could reason with or outfight if necessary, but Red was a protective thing and she had the power to fry him first and ask questions later.

Bless her, she seemed content to remain in the dark for now. "Okay," she said. "C'mon, Buffy. Let's go inside and say goodnight to Dawn."

The robot responded by grabbing Spike and planting a kiss on his cheek. "Don't keep me waiting," she warned in a tone too perky to be seductive.

Willow mouthed 'sorry' at him and took the robot firmly by the hand. "They'll be inside in a minute. We need to let them talk." With that, she left, dragging the 'bot behind her.

Angel waited until he knew for sure that Willow was out of earshot before cutting right to the chase. "I think you know what I want to talk to you about. It's Dawn. I want to know what's going on between the two of you."

To Spike's credit, he wasn't surprised, which would have indicated a lack of respect for Angel's intelligence, and he was honest, if not particularly informative, when he replied, "I have feelings for the girl."

"I gathered that." Angel wasn't going to make this easy for Spike, wasn't going make it comfortable for him and allow him to prevaricate or sidestep. "I want to know what you intend to do about it – or if you've already…"

"No." Spike cut Angel off emphatically. "She doesn't know."

He watched as Angel nodded approvingly. Bit of a hypocrite though, wasn't he? Spike decided to call him on it. "I'm not you and she's not Buffy. She's a little girl, a little girl with her whole bloody life ahead of her. She can leave this town, be a part of the world where monsters are just special effects, get married, have babies, all that human rot. And I won't keep her from it if that's what she wants. I won't make her a grown-up before she's ready, either."

That last was more pointed than was just, and he knew it the moment he said it. Angel's reply was entirely reasonable. "Buffy was a Slayer, Spike. She wasn't Dawn. Slayers don't get to be girls – most of them never grow old enough to be women. They live in a different world."

"Fair enough," Spike said, letting his eyes offer the apology he'd never speak.

"But you're right. Dawn _is _still a child. I'm glad we both agree on that."

"That we do."

The sincerity of his words shone from Spike's eyes, as did the words he hadn't said out loud but that Angel could hear all the same. "When she's older… Well, we'll see, won't we? But I trust you and I won't do anything to interfere with your friendship. Dawn depends on you." And how strange was it that he really did trust Spike; really did know that the one he still thought of as a boy was a man he could count on to do the right thing, even if he didn't have a soul?

There might have been more they could have said, but at that moment, Willow came back outside. "Angel? Wesley's on the phone. He says it's urgent and he sounds pretty upset."

A chill went up Angel's spine. Had Cordelia had a vision? Would he need to return to Los Angeles already? He'd been so sure that Sunnydale was where his destiny lay, at least for awhile. But he gave away none of his emotions, merely replying, "I'm coming," before nodding at Spike. Both of them followed her to the back door.

Willow handed him the receiver with a look of concern and… Angel didn't know what other emotion was there, or maybe he didn't want to. He took the phone and watched as she turned and walked back out to the living room, taking Spike with her.

"Wesley, what's wrong?"

"Cordelia has had a most extraordinary and shocking vision."

Spike scanned the living room, not sure if he shouldn't be glad he couldn't see his favorite girl. His emotions were raw right now. Still, he had to ask, "Where's Dawn?"

Anya rolled her eyes. "She got upset when I took all her money."

"You what?"

"It was a game, Spike. Monopoly," Xander explained, obviously amused by how upset Spike had become. "Anyway, she's upstairs."

"Oh." But Spike still glared at Anya.

Willow wasn't too surprised. Monopoly with Anya never ended well. She was absolutely driven and no fun at all. She wondered why Dawn hadn't figured that out yet.

But of course what was really on her mind was that phone call. It was a vision. It had to be. And that probably meant…

Oh was she feeling conflicted right now. On the one hand, Angel going home put an end to this difficult and complicated and very wrong… whatever it was that they had going on. But on the other hand, Dawn had really learned to like him and even Spike seemed glad to have him around and… yeah, okay, at the risk of being anything like Anya, there _was_ the money to be considered. Would Angel still help them out if he had to go back home? She sure hoped so. He did care about Dawn, she knew that, and he wouldn't want her to wind up with Hank or in foster care because Willow couldn't keep a roof over their heads and the 'bot in good repair.

Still, the truth was that she'd miss him too. They'd become friends; she'd learned to count on him.

How was she going to handle this?

"Are you sure?" Angel still couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I am quite sure, Angel. In the vision, Cordelia was told that the burden was no longer hers to bear and she saw Sunnydale - Buffy's house, in fact. And then… Well, she said she could actually feel the power leave her."

"Can I talk to her?"

"I'm afraid she's in no shape for conversation. She's quite distraught."

Angel understood and he didn't press the issue. He felt sympathy for Cordelia. Yes, the visions were painful, but he knew how much it meant to her to have them, to be an important warrior in their fight, to be their seer. It reminded him of when he'd been human. After the euphoria faded…when he'd realized he was just an ordinary man…

The truth was that it had not really been his desire to protect Buffy that had led him to renounce that accidental 'gift'. Deep down, he'd always known that it was the lack of singularity, the unimportance, from which he'd fled back in time.

"Will she be okay?"

"We're all here for her," Wesley said distractedly, and Angel realized that it wasn't just Cordelia who was feeling lost.

Unfortunately, Angel had nothing to offer, or at least no way to offer it now. But he did have another question.

Spike was becoming more than a bit impatient. He wanted to know what was going on in the kitchen. Would Angel be leaving? There was a time when the prospect of that would have made him dance a jig, but now – bloody hell, just when he'd got used to that bastard, even started to like him and feel all familial, he was gonna leave. Just like always, wasn't it? Poor Spike gets to be the one left behind licking his wounds and feeling like a right fool. He wasn't merely _love's _bitch; he was everybody's bitch.

But just before he could well and truly drown himself in self-pity…

There was a scream from upstairs.

"Dawn!"

Tbc…


	30. Chapter 30

To One in Paradise (Chapter Thirty)

Dawn - Dawn had just screamed.

That one sound terrified Spike more than any demon he'd ever faced. He shot up from the couch where he'd been sitting and raced for the stairs…

…where he promptly collided with Dawn.

"Oh my God, you guys! You won't believe… But I saw… I was in my room, just listening to music, and I saw… And it was totally like it was happening in front of me, except not, and… Oh God! Do you think I'm going crazy?"

"You're not crazy, Dawnie," Willow said.

Spike stared at her. Of course Dawn wasn't crazy. What they needed to know was what the hell she'd seen that made her scream…and if he could kill it slowly and painfully. "What did you see?" he asked, glaring at Willow again for good measure.

Angel had dropped the phone the moment he heard the scream and now he stood silently in the living room. He knew exactly what had just happened. "The visions," he said softly, before asking in a louder tone, "Do you have a headache?"

"N-no," Dawn replied. Then she answered Spike's question. "I saw a vampire. A really mean, ugly one. He was attacking a girl behind the Bronze. What does it mean?"

"That call – from Wesley… He told me that Cordelia no longer has the visions," Angel began.

Spike was about to interrupt, and so, oddly enough, was Anya, but Angel forestalled them both with a raised hand. "It's obvious what just happened. Dawn has the visions now. She's… She's my… _our_ seer."

It was a good thing that Dawn was standing right next to Spike because if she hadn't leaned on him just in time, she would have collapsed to the floor. "I'm… I'm a seer?" As scary as what she'd just seen was – even with the explanation she now had – Dawn felt proud and… happy. But she had a question. "Why did you ask me if I had a headache?"

"The visions are usually painful. At least they are – were – for Cordelia. And even for Doyle, though not as much. But he was…" Dawn watched as a light seemed to go on behind Angel's eyes. "Doyle was half-demon."

"And I'm…"

"The Key," Willow finished softly.

"Wow." Dawn stood straight now. This was it – this was what she'd wanted so badly. Now she felt like she wasn't just some shadow of an imitation girl. She was real and she was important. It was like the visions had been meant for her all along. Because she could handle them. She wasn't less than human at all.

She was more.

But something even more important than the discovery of her brand new purpose was going on. "Guys, somebody had better get to the Bronze. There's a girl in total danger. And this vamp? He's more than just a vampire. He knows magic, too."

"I'm on it," Angel said, giving Dawn a soft, proud smile

Dawn's words roused Willow from the fog of confusion and fear in which she'd been shrouded. There would be time to worry about what this all meant later. "I better go along."

"You're magic girl," Dawn agreed.

That she was, and the one thing that was clear and unequivocal right now was that there was a life to be saved and her skills were needed to save it. Willow grabbed her jacket off the coat tree. "Let's go." With that, she and Angel headed back out into the night.

Spike's eyes were on them as they left, but he barely saw them. His little girl… she was a seer now. She had the visions that had once belonged to that cheerleader chit of Angel's. How…? "Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes now clear and focused on Dawn.

"Yeah." The word was oddly indistinct and her own eyes reflected a kind of supernatural joy. It was easy to see that she didn't fear what she'd become – Spike did, though. Maybe because this changed things in ways she was probably too young to think about yet. That theoretical mortal boy Spike had already hated, the normal life with marriage and babies, she couldn't have them now, could she? Now…

Fate seemed to have handed the girl to him on a silver platter, now didn't it? Except for her being too bloody young… except for the possibility that he wasn't what she'd want when she was grown up and ready for all that grown-up stuff.

"You sure?" he asked, knowing it was pointless and silly even as he spoke, but not knowing what else to say.

Instead of answering him, she began bouncing on her toes and a wide grin that shone like the sun appeared on her sweet face. "Do you know what this means?" She kept bouncing. "It means I'm special. It means that this whole Key thing is… It's important and it means I have a purpose. I mean, Angel said the visions _hurt_ Cordelia. They don't hurt _me_at all. Isn't that great? I was meant to have them. I'm a seer, Spike! I have a destiny, just like Buffy. I'm really her sister after all."

Seconds later, he was wrapped in her arms. She was vibrating with the high emotion she clearly felt and he found himself caught up in it, letting go of his misgivings for the time being. Dawn was happy – so incredibly happy. If these visions did that – well, then, he was glad she'd got them.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him: this meant Angel would be staying in Sunnydale. Just a few moments ago he'd been steeling himself for being abandoned again, but now... No, Angel wasn't leaving. Not now, maybe never. The thought made him… not happy – he still couldn't see his way to calling himself that about anything yet – but there was a comfort there. Angel was well on his way to _truly_ being Spike's sire again and Spike was glad to know he wouldn't have to give that up because of Angel's precious redemption off in Hell-A. No, Angel's redemption now lay here, didn't it?

"This is great, isn't it, Spike?"

He nodded against her cheek. He'd worry about the future later. Because right now, today, tomorrow, things might just be all right.

Xander stood in the backyard, staring up at the night sky, feeling smaller than ever. Probably no one had even noticed that he wasn't in the living room anymore. It was a super hero party and he hadn't been invited.

Willow was a witch, Anya was an ex-vengeance demon who'd once wielded more power than almost anyone they'd faced but Glory, Spike and Angel were vampires, Giles had been able to do some magic – plus he was a Watcher, which was at least a secret identity – and now Dawn, the last 'just us folks' kind of person besides Xander, she got the nifty prize at the bottom of the cereal box. She was a seer who got visions to help the other super heroes save lives.

Of course, she'd started out as a mystical Key, so this actually made sense, but Xander didn't care about logic right now. All he knew was that he was the lone ordinary schmuck in a world full of magical, super-powered people and it hurt. Oh God did it hurt.

"Hey." Anya's voice startled him and he whirled around.

"What are you doing out here?" Xander winced at how harsh he sounded, but luckily Anya was pretty much immune to nuance and took the question at face value.

"Spike and Dawn are going over and over the whole vision thing and I'd rather be with you."

At the reminder of just what he himself had fled, Xander couldn't stop himself before he blurted out, "Why? I'm not one of the special people. I'm just the ordinary human."

"Is that why you're out here? You think you're not special? Because that's silly. You _are_ special." Anya walked towards him, meaning to hug him, but for all that everyone said she didn't understand human feelings, she understood Xander's, and he didn't want her to hug him. It hurt and for a moment she was very angry at Dawn for getting the visions that upset Xander in the first place. "You're Xander."

It didn't help. He barked out a short laugh that wasn't really laughter at all. "Yeah. I'm Carpenter Man, Drywall Guy…whatever. I'm just the wacky and amusing sidekick who orders the pizza, and gets syphilis, and babysits the really important girl with the visions." His eyes…they had tears in them and Anya wanted so badly to be the patron vengeance demon for Xander Harris so she could punish everyone who was making him feel this way. After a few seconds, he started talking again. "You don't know what it's like. Before Buffy… It was me and Willow and Jesse and we were all losers together, until Jesse got turned. Then it... there was Buffy and she had all these Slayer powers. But hey, I wasn't all alone because there was still Willow. Only she turns into magic girl…and… You're a vengeance demon – or you were – and you spent a thousand years as this all-powerful, man-hurting creature. And now? Now Dawn has visions. Everyone gets to be special but me. Everyone has some great gift and I'm still…"

Anya grabbed his hands in hers. "You're Xander. And you're better than anyone else. Don't you know that?" She stared into his eyes, hoping he saw the truth in them and not just her runny mascara. "Yes, I was a vengeance demon. Do you know what that means?" She paused. "Don't answer that, by the way. It was a rhetorical question. What it means is that I saw every terrible thing men could possibly do to women. After all of that, how could I possibly fall in love? But I did. I fell in love with _you_. And it's not just your penis, even though it's very attractive and you use it extremely well. It's _you_. You make me forget everything I know. You even make me glad I'm going to grow old and ugly and live a ridiculously short life. Because I'm going to spend that short, ugly life with you. And that makes you the most special man who's ever existed. I love you, Xander. Even though you're not wealthy and you can't shoot out flames from your eyeballs. You don't need any of that. You just had to be you to make me love you and this is how I want you to stay."

There were tears running down his cheeks as Xander pulled Anya into his arms. She loved him; she really did. Maybe he was special after all.

Willow choked slightly on the dust as the vampire they had just staked lost his unlife. The girl they'd saved had run during the fight and Willow was alone in the alley with Angel. "Thanks for doing the binding spell," Angel said, smiling at her, his skin pale and glowing in the moonlight.

"He felt pretty powerful. I'm glad I took him by surprise." That was an understatement. If he had been prepared, this would not have been nearly as sure and easy a win… If she'd even been able to win at all. She was self-aware enough to realize that her discombobulation over Dawn had affected her magic. A simple binding was about all she was good for tonight. "Dawn is your seer now, huh?" The words just tumbled out.

"Yes, she is."

Angel's voice was sure and calm, but there was something else – something she didn't want to think about. Her wonky Angel feelings were back with a vengeance as she realized… "You're staying here, aren't you? I mean permanently. You're never going back to L.A."

He smiled. "I'm staying," he agreed.

A part of her had known, hadn't it? Even before… "Is Dawn going to be okay?" It was more important – wasn't it? – to talk about Dawn.

Now Angel's expression turned stern and serious. "Nothing will happen to her. You know I'll protect her – _we'll_ protect her," he remembered to correct himself. "Having the visions doesn't mean she has to fight." Meeting Willow's eyes, he could see they were full of clouds. He went to her, pulling her into his arms. She didn't fight him, but she didn't welcome his embrace and it stung. "I didn't foresee this," he offered, with a hint of defensiveness he couldn't quite keep out of his voice.

"I know."

She believed him, he knew that, but, if he was truly honest with himself, was it the truth – really? No, his defensiveness had deeper cause than Willow's misgivings. Maybe he hadn't known the specifics, but a part of him had known that destiny had called him back to Sunnydale. Still, he would say nothing of that now. Someday – when her feelings had become clear to her and she was his, truly his – he'd tell her and she would smile. "Do you want to talk? Before we go home?" He could feel the way her brain hummed within her through her skin as he loosened their embrace and she backed away – slightly, but she did back away. He did understand, though. "I know this is a shock."

That was an understatement. Willow was caught in a whirlpool of competing emotions, each one trying to drag her under. What felt strongest though was a sense that she'd let Buffy down. Buffy, who had died wanting Dawn to have a happy, normal life. Look what was happening. "Buffy would be so angry," she said softly, not even realizing she'd spoken out loud at all until she caught the look in Angel's eyes. "Dawn wasn't supposed to…"

"Wasn't supposed to what? Be part of the fight? Willow, you know as well as I do that… This is her destiny, can't you see that? Do you honestly believe that all that ancient power inside of her was just going to go away?"

Now that Angel said it, Willow supposed it _was _a pretty foolish idea at that. Dawn looked and acted like a normal fifteen year old girl, but she wasn't and sooner or later… It was probably a lot like Willow discovering magic and realizing that it must be a part of her since not everyone could do it. Not the way she could.

Tara's face swam before her eyes for a moment. No, she didn't want to think about what her magic had cost her. It made her think about what these visions might cost Dawn – now and in the future.

Again she thought about Angel, about the fact that this meant he wasn't leaving. Ever. Her own life was now more restricted too. Wasn't Giles the lucky one? He had options and he'd used them. His world was wide and open and devoid of borders. "Are you sorry?" Willow asked after a moment.

"Sorry?"

"That you aren't going to go back to L.A."

Inside, in the places she didn't want to explore, she knew what his answer would be, but she knew what she _wanted _his answer to be and she held out hope until the words he spoke ripped it away. "No. Why would I be?" His eyes locked on hers and she saw more truth than she'd ever wanted to see. All those odd feelings she'd never been able to explain, the ones that had returned tonight with a vengeance, they were sharpening now in a way that made her miss the opacity of earlier days.

"Because that's where your life is." The words became a plea.

Angel shook his head. "My life is here." He took her hand and it was swallowed whole in those large, cold fingers.

"We should probably get back." There was a tremor in her voice. Angel's eyes grew shrewd, but she lied to herself and pretended she didn't notice. Instead, she let him lead her back home.

"Where did Xander and Anya go?" Dawn looked around the living room, having finally come down from the high of finding out she was 'vision girl'. Well, not totally, but enough to notice that she and Spike were all alone.

Spike shrugged and Dawn whacked him lightly on the arm. It was pretty obvious he didn't care, but Dawn did. "Do you think they went home?" She was sort of worried now. They hadn't said anything to her since she'd come downstairs. Were they freaked?

"Don't know," he offered before going to the window and pulling back the drapes. "Now I do. The whelp's car is still out there, so I'm guessing they're out back." Guess maybe demon girl needed a shag or something, though he wouldn't share that observation with Dawn. She might be a seer, but she was still too young for such talk. He caught himself staring at her, searching for the changes she'd just undergone in her face.

She caught him at it and her eyes locked on his, knowing at first and then she came over uncertain and shy. "Spike?" Her eyes were wide and soft. "Can I ask you about something?"

Thank hell for small favours because before he could be expected to answer, the front door opened and Red and his sire came walking through the door. "I'm guessing you got the job done," Spike said, noticing the calmly triumphant look on Angel's face. Willow looked…subdued. Spike understood that. It was suddenly clear to him that, whatever his opinion of Tara and Willow's old life in general, it had been easier on Willow, things being the way they'd been before Angel threw a spanner in the works. For all her magic, a part of that girl wanted a safe, calm harbor. That wasn't Angel. That would never be Angel. But he was what she had, now and ever after. Her wings might beat against the glass, but they would break before it would. Best to give in, build herself a nest and be content. Spike had learned that lesson well from the chip in his head, hadn't he? Anyway, having Angel in her bed was nothing like the hardship of an electronic leash, and that was the truth. Someday she'd realize she was actually a right lucky girl.

"The bad guy's dust," Willow agreed, smiling at Dawn. "Your vision was right on. He had major mojo."

"Really?" Dawn's eyes lit up and she was bouncing on her toes again. This was so cool. She was a seer. An honest-to-goodness, for real seer. She had Angel to thank for it, too. How weird was that? Not very long ago she'd thought him coming here was some sort of punishment for being the reason for Buffy's death, but it wasn't that at all. It was like a gift – a gift that showed that the universe didn't blame her; because she was important enough to die for…and important enough to live. "I'm glad," she said, feeling too full of emotion to find better words.

What did Spike think, though? Really and truly think? She had so much to talk to him about: what he'd felt for her before, what he felt for her now. It wasn't going to happen for at least a little while; she'd figured that out. That was probably better, she decided, when she thought about it for a minute. A lot had happened and she got that everybody else was more wigged about the whole vision thing than she was. They weren't her – hadn't felt this big void inside that she now knew was a special place just waiting for destiny to fill it.

It was weird, but she realized the person she felt most like wasn't Buffy, but Willow. Her memories might be fake, but she knew… "Willow? Can we talk?" Okay, maybe she was being sort of rude, but she was bursting and she needed to make Willow understand – and to be understood right back. It was so obvious that Willow was worried and upset. So she didn't wait for Willow to agree before dragging her upstairs to her room. It wasn't like Willow hadn't said yes along the way, right?

The second they were in the room, Dawn closed the door and blurted out, "It's okay, you know? Me having visions. It's actually really cool."

Willow's eyes welled up as she saw the bright eagerness in Dawn's expression, heard the enthusiasm and pride in her voice. She knew what Dawn felt like, she did, but… "I know that's how you feel now, Dawnie, but…"

"But what? But maybe someday I'll want to have a 'normal' life?" The acuity of Dawn's insight into her thoughts gave Willow a jolt. "As if! Did you want one? Because my memories might be fake, but I am pretty sure you really did turn down every top university in America and half the ones in Europe in order to stay here and fight evil." Again there were powerful fingers around her own, but these belonged to a child – a child as old as the world. "This is who I am. I know I look like a normal teenage girl, I even feel like one, but I'm not, and I always feel that, too. It's like there was this place inside me that was just waiting for these visions. It's like I'm whole now. And okay, yeah, it's kind of scary, but good scary, and I can handle it. Isn't this what it felt like for you? When you started helping Buffy? And then when you realized what you are? That you're a powerful witch?"

Willow's eyes shot wide and the tears spilled out. She had no idea what to say. Looking at Dawn, hearing her words… It was like looking in a mirror. She felt guilty about that, like she was stealing something, a kinship that belonged to Buffy, but she felt that kinship all the same. "I know," she said softly, putting her other hand over the one wrapped around her left. "I just… I wanted you to be able to make those choices for yourself, you know? I know that's what Buffy wanted."

"Buffy isn't here." The words hit Willow like a slap in the face. "I miss her, too, okay, and I wish she was still alive, but she isn't and that means… Things are different. We can't spend every day asking ourselves what Buffy would do. We don't know. None of us know and even if we did… Buffy wasn't always right, you know. Not about everything."

What could Willow say to that? It was true, wasn't it? "When did you grow up?" she asked as she pulled Dawn close and hugged her.

"I love you." It wasn't an answer, but then, she didn't think Willow really expected one.

"I love you, too."

She stayed in Willow's embrace for a long moment, enjoying the feeling of 'family'. And then she thought of something else she'd wanted to talk to her about. Now would be a good time, what with Willow seeing her as a grown-up and all. "I know, you know," she said. "I know that you and Angel have sort of a thing going on."

Tbc...


	31. Chapter 31

To One in Paradise (Chapter Thirty-One)

Willow stepped out of Dawn's room, reeling. Dawn was okay with her and Angel. More than okay, Dawn was actually almost _excited_ about it.

Oh sure, Willow hadn't told her that she and Angel had… after all, it wasn't like she was going to tell Dawn all about Angel's tryst with Darla. But Dawn had been eerily calm anyway, sure that Willow was hard at work on some magical solution to the curse problem and blithely confident that everything was going to be just fine. The closest thing she'd come to even mentioning the Buffy factor was when she'd squeezed Willow's hand and said it was important to go on and be happy. That that was what Buffy would want.

Happy? Willow didn't know what she felt for Angel, but it didn't make her happy.

A wave composed of fractured memory and the echo of warning after warning – those wonky 'Angel feelings' now sharpened into terrifying clarity – washed over her and she wondered how she could still breathe; why wasn't she drowning in it?

It felt like her life had spun completely out of control. Or, more accurately, that control had been wrested from her – that, for all her magic, she was a puppet now, being jerked around by forces that saw her as nothing more than a pawn in a larger game.

Forces that had been reshaping her world since Buffy leapt from the tower.

Tara.

Giles.

Dawn.

Willow.

How had all of this happened? Or maybe she should be asking _why_all of this happened. Was it because it was so important for Angel to be here that nothing else mattered? Or was she being melodramatic and even narcissistic and delusional?

She should go downstairs, maybe talk to Xander, find out what he thought about what had just happened to Dawn, but she felt cowardly and also incredibly unsettled, so she decided to go hide in her room.

Unfortunately, the universe stood fast against her still. Opening the door to the bedroom, she gasped as she saw it wasn't empty.

"Angel."

He stood up from the bed where he'd been sitting. Again she was struck by how large and imposing he was, this dark presence which dominated her life.

"I think we need to talk. Don't you?"

"The whelp and his demon chit are gone," Spike said as Dawn came down the stairs. "Angel went upstairs a few minutes ago." He wasn't sure why that was the first thing he said – or maybe he was. Dawn's eyes held that odd mixture of innocence and knowing, little girl sweetness blended together with ancient wisdom.

He wasn't the only one to blurt something out. "Spike, do you like me? I mean _like _like me?"

Part of him wanted to pretend that he had no idea what she meant, mostly because she was too damn young to mean what she was talking about. He should have done a better job of concealing his feelings. But now that the cat appeared to be out of the bag, well, he owed her honesty and respect. "It's complicated, Bit," he replied, and that was true enough.

'Complicated.' That was the favorite word of every adult Dawn had ever known. She wanted to ask why, but she didn't. Maybe everything really was. Maybe the older you got, the more tangled up everything got. For the first time, she wondered if she wanted to be a grown-up after all. Except… even though she didn't remember anything before becoming who she was now, she was technically thousands of years old and everything still seemed pretty simple to her – not always easy, but simple.

Was it weird that she didn't quite understand what she meant by that?

"Because of Buffy?" she asked, figuring that had to be a big part of the whole 'complicated' thing. It always was, wasn't it? Buffy was beautiful and brave and strong and she was the Chosen One. Dawn was… well, she _was _a seer now. Would that help? Could it be enough?

Because she realized that deep down she'd been in love with Spike for what felt like forever.

"Partly." Spike took her hand, looking at her like she _was_ an adult who could understand things. It was nice. More than nice.

"Does that mean you just like me because I'm…"

"No!" Spike's voice was low, but as stern as stone. The fact that she thought he might… "I care for _you_. It's got nothin' to do with her. But I'd be lyin' if I said I was over all the grief…or that I didn't feel bloody guilty for lettin' you into my heart so soon." Dawn's eyes held him fast and there was no turning back; he kept talking. "You're still so young." She was about to say something and he was pretty sure what it was, so he cut her off. "Buffy was a Slayer, and Slayers are a different breed. The duty they have, the almost guarantee that they'll die while they're still girls… That's not you, Dawn." Her eyes widened at his use of her name and not a nickname. She got that he was deadly serious.

"But I'm a seer," she argued, her teenage petulance adorable – and full of answers. She 'liked' him back and it made his dead heart soar.

"I know you're a seer now and that changes some things. But it doesn't change everything. And one thing that it doesn't change is that you're not ready for what goes on between a man and a woman." Leaning in, he planted a soft kiss on her forehead and to Dawn it felt every bit as romantic as any of those kisses in the movies. "You need to grow up, sweet girl. When you're 18 – if I'm what you want – I'll…"

"You'd wait for me?" Dawn asked, her eyes filling with tears that were both happy and sad, frustrated and hopeful.

"'s not so long, pet. Not for a vampire."

It seemed like forever to Dawn, and she wondered if… "Are you just saying that?"

Honesty – it was still the best policy, but he hoped she would understand. "I can't say I won't take some comfort here and there. Would be lying if I told ya I could manage that. We can't all be Angel," he said, even as he knew that last bit wasn't true at all anymore. Apparently so did Dawn, because she snorted.

"Oh please. I know all about him and Willow."

Hell's bells, had Willow spilled her guts upstairs? "Didn't know you'd heard the news," he offered carefully, wary of her tricking him into revealing the whole story.

She snorted again. "Oh please. Like it's not totally obvious."

Spike was sure now: his girl was playing games. She knew something, but she didn't know everything – and she wasn't gonna hear it from Spike. "He fancies her. Has done for awhile. She might fancy him back as well." He fought back a chuckle as he saw Dawn's eyes narrow and her mouth set in a tight, frustrated line. "It's none of our business, pet. Not unless they want it to be."

It was all she could do not to stamp her foot, but Dawn got it; she did. This was part of that growing up she was supposed to do, wasn't it? Being a seer – it changed a whole bunch of things, but she realized that Spike was right about some stuff. Maybe she was young in a lot of ways. She could get over that, though. She could. And way before she turned 18 (not that she'd say that to Spike - no, she'd let him see it for himself). "I'm gonna go to bed," she said. "I'm kinda tired and I should probably be well-rested for all this vision stuff."

"It's a big responsibility," Spike agreed. He was looking at her in that special way again, the way that made her tummy tingle.

"Spike?" she said softly before turning to go. "Can I ask you for something?" He nodded and she breathed in deeply, trying to be brave. "Would you… could you kiss me?"

Bit's request took him aback. He should say no, should tell her that when he'd said 'wait' he'd meant wait for _everything_, but he couldn't. If he was honest with himself, he'd admit that he wanted to make sure she knew exactly what she had to look forward to if she threw over any silly teenage swains. So he pulled her to him and kissed her. It was a soft, gentle kiss and he didn't allow himself to taste what lay behind those sweet lips, but…

It was amazing. It was fireworks and rainbows and all that stuff that the romance novels Dawn had swiped from Buffy had ever said a kiss could be. And he hadn't even used his tongue. Imagine what it would be like when he did. Imagine what it would be like when… was it hot in here?

"G'night, Dawn." Spike let go and went to the door. He needed to leave. Now.

"You better wait for me," Dawn said. "Because I'm yours. I am."

"18, Bit. 18."

"My 18th birthday," she affirmed and he stifled a groan. Not trusting himself to say any more, he made his exit.

Tonight it was a difficult thing, leaving her. But he realized he could handle it tomorrow and every day thereafter. Because she'd said it. She had. She was his. And all right, maybe he'd never been known for patience before, but it was different now. He could wait.

She was worth waiting for.

The world after Buffy – it wasn't so bleak and horrible after all. "Rest in peace, luv," he said softly to the night sky. "Everything's all right."

Okay, a minute ago she'd actually meant it about going to bed, but now… How the heck was Dawn supposed to sleep? She'd kissed Spike! Spike had kissed her! And he cared about her, wanted her – like real guy-girl wanted – and he'd promised to wait for her. It was even more cool and special and wonderful than being a seer, though that was really wonderful, too.

She almost danced up the stairs to her room. No, she probably wasn't going to get much sleep, but she still wanted to be alone with all her happy thoughts.

For a split second, she felt guilty for how happy she was, but she flashed back on what she'd told Willow. It had been the truth. It had. Buffy would want them all to be happy. "I love you," she said, hoping that somehow her sister could hear her. "And it's all right. You can be happy in Heaven now. Because we're okay."

She lay down on Buffy's bed for what she decided would be the last time. It was time to let go. Tomorrow she'd get Angel to help her move the bed into the basement or something. If he wasn't busy with Willow. She giggled and stared up at the ceiling. It looked like a starry sky; at least it did to Dawn. A bright, beautiful night sky. She made a wish on one of those stars. And what do you know? It had already come true.

Anya followed Xander into the apartment they called home. "You know, you're really good at all that manly construction stuff. I think you should build us a house."

Xander chuckled. "I don't think Giles is paying you enough for that. I know I sure don't make enough."

"Why not?"

"First I'd have to buy the land. Then all the materials. And hey, I've never designed a house before. I might need professional help."

Anya was dumbfounded. "You have to buy the land? And materials? Why? If you're going to do all the work of building a house, it should practically be free."

"It doesn't work that way."

"Well it should," Anya groused. "I thought Americans were all about that pioneer spirit and homesteading and things like that."

"And we were. Until the real estate people and Home Depot stepped in." Xander was pretty sure history was actually a lot more complicated than that, but Willow had done all of his history homework and that pretty much took care of any attention he had ever paid in class.

Willow. "There's something I should probably tell you," Xander started. Anya went into the kitchen and he waited until she came back to the living room carrying two sodas. He sat down on the couch and she joined him.

"Is this that thing you and Willow talked about and didn't tell me?" She sounded less peevish than he'd expected, though it was obvious she was sort of ticked off.

"I couldn't," he explained. "Not until we were alone."

"Oh." She furrowed her brow for a moment. Then she got that 'light bulb' look. "So she and Angel _are _having sex."

"No!" he replied. "No way would Willow risk unleashing Angelus."

"Maybe they're having oral sex." Once again Anya succeeded in creating images in his head he wished weren't there.

"I'm sure they aren't," he said, with a lot more conviction than he felt. Not like Willow had looked him in the eye when she'd said it had just been a couple of kisses.

Anya was about to argue, but she saw the pained look in Xander's eyes. Tact wasn't her biggest virtue, but she could cultivate it for Xander's sake. Tonight – seeing how fragile and lost he'd been in the backyard when he'd thought he wasn't special – it reminded her of just how much he meant to her and how much she'd do to make him happy.

It was time to change the subject.

"Well, she is a pretty powerful witch, so no matter what, I'm sure we'll be safe," Anya pronounced cheerily. "But hey, speaking of sex… all that disgusting vegan food we ate earlier has me thinking about my favorite meat." She reached over and put her hand on that very thing, just in case Xander needed help figuring out her euphemism.

It didn't distract him the way she'd hoped. "What do you think Buffy would say? I mean if she knew that Angel was already making the serious moves on her best friend?"

"But she doesn't know. She's in Heaven, or whatever place Slayers go when they die saving the world from hordes of trans-dimensional demons."

Anya's logic was sound; Xander had to admit that. Still… "What if she does, An?"

Her hand moved to close around his – somehow that was a lot more comforting than the naughty touching. "I think she wants us all to be happy. She isn't here, Xander. Not anymore. I don't think she expects Willow and Angel to be lonely and miserable forever."

Xander thought back to the haunted look in Willow's eyes when she'd told him her fairy tale about Angel. He hoped it was because she'd feared his reaction and not because… He closed the door in his mind on any dark thoughts. "You're right. She'd want Willow to be happy. Because hey – she's in Heaven, right?"

"Right," Anya affirmed. "Now can we please have sex?"

Xander chuckled lightly before pulling his fiancée in for a kiss. Wherever Buffy was, she was happy. It was okay for the rest of them to be too "Yes, we can have sex."

"Dawn seems happy," Angel said, even though talking about Dawn hadn't been his intention. He decided to ease into discussing the matter of his and Willow's relationship instead of hitting her with it immediately. She looked tired and fragile and he adapted his manner to suit.

"Yeah. She's pretty excited about the whole seer thing."

"Is that what she wanted to talk to you about?"

"Uh huh." But there was more to it. He could hear it in the slight pause before she spoke. To his surprise, she told him without urging. "She knows. About us. I mean, not everything, but… but she figured out that there's stuff going on."

Cautiously, he ventured a question. "What did she say?"

A part of Willow almost wanted to lie, but it was pointless because Dawn would give the truth away. Still, she couldn't bring herself to reveal Dawn's enthusiasm. "She's okay about it."

Even that made Angel smile, blunt human teeth whose gleam somehow made her think of his fangs. As much as she didn't want to think about it, being alone in this bedroom with him... She remembered those teeth closing around her nipple, that mouth moving down her body. Her thoughts – they changed her scent, didn't they? Angel would know. Great.

"I'm glad." A long pause. A silence that stretched into infinity before Angel spoke again. "I know this is hard for you," he said, all kindness and understanding. "It's been hard for me, too. All the loss, all of the changes. But they're not all terrible, are they?" Arms around her now, cool and strong.

"Is Cordelia okay?" Willow blurted out, amazed at herself for even thinking about the former owner of the visions Dawn had been given.

It was just like Willow to be concerned even about someone to whom she'd never been close. He gave her a version of the truth. "Wesley's with her. It'll be an adjustment but I know she'll be all right. At least now she can focus on her acting career again." His tone wasn't dismissive, but there was no undercurrent in it either and he did nothing to encourage further discussion of the crew he'd left behind.

Willow's scent… she'd been thinking a moment ago, and not about Cordelia. Angel decided that there had indeed been enough conversation tonight. Tomorrow they could discuss the necessary practical adjustments involved in him being a permanent member of the household along with those necessary for Dawn in her new role as seer. For now…

He tilted her face up, staring into her eyes for a moment. She didn't try to pull away. So he kissed her.

There were so many things Willow wanted to say, protests she wanted to make. Again, she thought of Buffy. Tonight's events had turned Willow's life into Buffy's dream – fighting evil with Angel by her side, in her home, in her family…and in her bed. Willow had it all.

But despite her body's eager response, despite her own weakness and willingness to let Angel keep her loneliness at bay, this wasn't Willow's dream come true at all. She knew that she was paying dearly for the sin of accepting what Angel had to offer. And it wasn't in the easy coin of soul-loss and an ensuing demonic rampage on the part of her lover. Oh no. The toll was hers to pay and hers alone.

Visions of Tara swam before her eyes, the way things had been before Glory had stolen what Willow realized was so much more than Tara's mind.

She would never have that again.

Angel's hands were working the buttons on the back of her dress and soon she felt it slide down her body. "Beautiful," she heard him say. There was nothing for her to say. She let him divest her of her bra and panties, watched him disrobe.

He was beautiful himself; she admitted that. A model of perfection too unreal to truly exist. But he did. And a moment later, they were on the bed and Angel was inside her, taking her to the heights of ecstasy even as she hated herself for robbing Buffy's grave. She hoped Buffy was in Heaven, too caught up in the joy of her reward to even think about the life she'd left behind. But Willow missed her. And she wished Buffy was still here. That was selfish, though, wasn't it? Because Buffy had served and sacrificed and she deserved peace and comfort and freedom. One thing had not changed. One thing never would. Willow loved Buffy. Platonic though it might be, that love was deep and real and forever. She hoped it somehow made up for the love she'd stolen. 'Be happy,' she called to her departed friend in the depths of her mind before Angel's skill made thought impossible. One of them should be.

Angel drove himself over and over into the welcome heat of Willow's body. Buffy wasn't the only one who'd received a gift, was she? No she wasn't. All the years he'd spent in degradation, the centuries in Hell, his attempts to atone… it wasn't meaningless or insufficient as he'd feared. No, it was…not enough, certainly – he'd never stop atoning – but it was enough to earn him more than he'd ever dared to dream.

He had family now, in Spike and Dawn, and he had found love with Willow: truer, richer, and more passionate love than he'd ever known. If the object of his love didn't quite return those feelings yet, well, that would come in time, and time was now utterly and completely on his side.

He let go, losing himself in the sensation of his flesh moving against and inside Willow.

Buffy might be in Heaven, but Angel was in Paradise.

The End.


End file.
